


Mating Games Round 2 Challenge 1: Happily Ever After

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bondage, F/F, F/M, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, Temporary Character Death, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 112,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the entries for week one, round two of the Mating Games pornathon challenge on LJ.</p><p>For details on what this challenge is: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/14113.html">FAQ</a> on LJ</p><p>If you'd like to vote for any of these, you are welcome to even if you aren't a participant in this challenge. You can read how to vote and cast your votes here: <a href="http://mating-games.livejournal.com/15452.html">Voting Post!</a></p><p>In this challenge, teams are already set so we aren't taking any new writers/artists, but you are welcome to participate as a reader/voter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A: With Warnings and Pairings

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING -- Chapters 4 and 8 contain artwork that is not safe for work (NSFW).

1.

**Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

Derek can hear chattering from outside the house already by his kids he could imagine Stiles holding their 4 year old daughter Danielle who act so much like him on the lot of talking and asking but luckily that is Stiles department so he doesn’t worry followed by Damien listening quietly and he definitely remind him a lot like him.

People might ask how exactly they meet, well they probably meet in unorthodox way but he like to think it’s fate.

Derek took back his memory back 10 years ago, at the beach probably his favorite place he like to think the wave and the view of the beach always calm him down he can drown on that feeling but that certain day is something he can’t forget….

Stiles know his kind but he always considered himself just a fragile human but when he’s in the water he feel more alive and powerful and so exhilarating, beach always be his sanctuary the great thing about being a merman as the books say that people won’t notice his fin as they can’t see the unless he want them to be reveal so he doesn’t worry if there’s a lot of people at the beach and it just nice to connecting with the sea creatures it’s like he’s apart of them.

He just takes his usual stroll in the water when he see this particular guy caught his eyes, his mother used to say “our kind have a soul mate they could be our kind or they could be from another kind so not all of them know it but when they find you they will know and they can feel it and the rest just come naturally”

He never really believe it as he grow older he likes to think it just a myth or fairy tale but as he saw the person that might be no definitely his soul mate he know this is real but could the other guy felt it?

Just when he think it couldn’t be, Stiles feel the guy gaze at him and he suddenly feel his heart skip a beat and he need to be closer so he swim closer to the edge and the guy comes closer to without realizing and the distance is just a feet between land and water and it shows how different they are but just the same as the guy look over in the water he knew he let his true color shows and he’s not even afraid he feel he can tell anything and they not even saying anything to each at all.  
The guy look up at him and there a fondness in his face and it just meant for him, “I’m Derek” the guy finally said and Stiles snap out from his thought, “Uh, I’m Stiles as you can tell that’s not my real name like a nickname but if you know my real name it’s so hard to pronounce and I think you will know why when I told you but that would waste your time-“  
Of course he just give that gorgeous smile like who would not in love with that bunny teeth smile like he actually bubbling with happiness inside.  
And you could say the rest is history, others may have to get to know like weeks, months, years to get to know each other but we take just few days we knew we meant for each other than obvious reason we just falling deeper to each other, each good, bad, everything we take it all and I couldn’t say I regret it and we all live happily ever after  
Danielle whine, “No, there is no fight like sea monster and stuff, like daddy like woosh go away monster!” Stiles chuckles at his daughter antics as he pull her closer with Derek on his side and Damien on Derek side, “Well, in our story such thing doesn’t happen but what is important in the end we have two beautiful kids that need a sleep okay” Stiles said as he tap her nose and she nods in defeat and with a yawn, “Kay Papa….”  
Stiles look over Derek as they stared at each other and they could say they still in love with each other even after all this years.  
“I love you” Derek said without hesitation, Stiles smile wide, “love you too dude”  
Derek just roll his eyes but smile with fond, “Don’t call me dude, honey bun”

* * *

2\. 

**Warnings: none**  
 **Pairing: Chris Argent/Sheriff Stilinski**

Finally, the circus that was their wedding day culminated in orgasms.

He managed enough breath to pant out, “Did you ever expect we’d ever end up here? This way?”

Chris just looked down his nose at him and raised an eyebrow. Pft, that haughty act wasn't going to cow him. His belly was covered in Chris’ semen, not to mention who was leaking to form the wet spot.

Chris sighed heavily, jostling him from Chris’ warm stomach skin. Ugh, touching the cold sweat and colder skin of his sides — he scootched down enough to push up and kneel between Chris’ legs.

“Well, I suspected we would have sex in a bed at some point in our relationship,” Chris snarked.

Chris was already returning to a resting state, his breath evening out. That fucker’s general health and fitness level? Totally unfair. That deserved to be repeated out loud.

“Well, I see where Stiles gets it from; I was sure that bratty behavior was inherited from his mom.”

He couldn't help but laugh loudly at that, and informed Chris, “I don’t know why everyone thinks that; how could I keep up with him at all if we weren't alike?”

Chris chuckled brightly. He rubbed at his face hard and sighed into his palms. Chris leveled a look down, trying to keep up the patrician act. Whatever, he knew better, he’d seen what Chris’ face looked like during an orgasm.

“Oh I have a type. And here I thought I was going for a mild, unassuming partner at last.”

Couldn't help it, he snorted loudly at that and waved away Chris’ words.

“What on earth would you do with that sort of sedate . . . lifestyle? Besides going nuts?”

Chris just hummed thoughtfully in response and smiled placidly down at him. That jackass was totally playacting, the twinkle of his eyes gave it away.

‘Well, two can play at that game,’ and deliberately let that thought bloom across his face as he leant forward, left hand steadying him on the side of the bed, the right brushing against his soft cock, and grinned at the spasm he felt.

Chris’ breathing had started to speed up and Chris had lost the Mona Lisa smile and now just looked hungry. Intent. He climbed up Chris slowly and very pointedly planted his legs on either side of Chris and just waited to see if Chris was game. Chris made and held eye contact — and nodded.

Immediately he reached out and tweaked Chris’ nipples at the same time he rolled his hips against Chris’ and rubbed their cocks together. Fuck, that was good, like a live wire, he flinched so hard against the sharp pain that was too much pleasure.

What was even better was letting go and sitting back, watching Chris’ face contort in that same pain/pleasure, his face screwed up with tears and open mouthed gasping. He watched Chris blink open his eyes and simmer down.

Chris croaked, “Why do my nipples get tweaked? Especially after today, that was too much.”

“. . .Honestly didn't think you’d want to use a Wartenberg wheel on me during sex, considering your profession and stamina. Can we table the S&M discussion and finish. . ?”

Chris looked thoughtful, but replied, “Sure,” so he leant forward and grabbed Chris’ shoulders, ground down, and rocked them toward a dry orgasm.

Chris broke first, slapping him away, so he sat back and rubbed himself to a finish while Chris shuddered and cried with the over-stimulation. He let Chris pull himself together, while he fetched a steamy washcloth.

He wiped them down while Chris lay panting. He threw the washcloth into the red laundry basket provided and flopped onto the couch, watched Chris finally take in the room.

“Why the hell did we let Stiles be the wedding planner? This is tacky.”

“Well, I have a note addressed to us in Stiles’ handwriting, want to see?”

Chris looked at him evenly, so he picked up the envelope and climbed onto the bed, nestling into Chris’ side.

The note read: To our Dads,

We wanted to say thank you for everything, and to pay you back for the last few years, we felt you deserved the fairytale wedding complete with everything humane, no doves.

Thank you for being our real dads — Isaac

Thank you for helping us with the pack: Scott.

The super chintzy is so you won't forget any of it! ;)

Love, us.

* * *

3.

Warnings: Mild mentions of abuse  
Pairing: Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey 

Fear and loathing have Isaac fleeing the only home he’s known. Mean fists and mad hands left black and purple marks on his skin. Words though, sharper than anything, have him running through the rain towards the forest. Lightning strikes across the sky followed by the heavens bellowing thunder. 

Sitting down under a tree he shivers, tremors making every part of him quake. 

He’s free now though. Turning his face to the sky, he laughs and water drips down his throat. 

The rain calms until it’s a fine mist. He gets up and moves, limbs stiff and sore from more than sitting but he shakes it off and walks deeper into the woods. He needs shelter. 

***

The manor Isaac happens upon before the sun rises looks dark and deserted. He shoves his shoulder into the door and it creaks loudly on rusty hinges. Freezing, he waits for noise from the house beyond. When nothing stirs, he walks in quietly. Exhaustion weighs him down, pulling him onto the nearest flat surface. 

He dreams of a woman. She walks by him with all of her skin on display. And in her shadow, an animal slinks along. 

***

Days pass and the house seems to welcome him. The bowl of apples that appeared during the night are welcome to his hunger. Crunching down on the fruit, he walks through the halls until he comes upon a gallery of portraits. Heavy curtains hang over them, obscuring their surfaces. He looks around because he’s had an odd feeling that someone is peering out of the shadows at him. 

Lifting a corner, he tries to catch a glimpse. A growl echoes through the hallway. The hair on his arms stands up and he freezes. Gulping, he turns his head slightly. He catches a glimpse of a dark tail turning around a corner.

He doesn’t give chase.

***

The dreams don’t stop. 

“You can touch me,” she whispers.

Words catch on his tongue and disappear. 

He wakes hard and lonely. 

***

Hunger drives him to hunt in the woods. The feeling of being watched follows him everywhere now. The light of day makes him less leery and he calls out. 

“You can come out.”

The dream creature peers out from behind a tree. 

They watch each other until she turns and sinks back into the shadows.

Isaac doesn’t hunt any more that day.

***

He dreams of her again. The beast sits idly by with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.

“She’s mine. I’m hers,” the woman says. 

 

***

The gallery hall looms large in front of him. He has to know if he’s dreaming of a ghost. He whips the covering from the frame. Allison Argent it says below the face he’s been expecting to see. 

***

He sleeps more than he should hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Now though the beast lays by him. Her hair is soft under his hand. 

“I wish she were here.”

The beast whines softly. Isaac closes his eyes and waits for sleep to claim him again. 

***

“I wish you were real.”

“For you, I am,” she whispers. 

He lies her back and her hair falls around her shoulders barely covering her breasts. He wants to take days discovering every inch of her, but their world is fleeting. Peeling his shirt off, he lies down by her. He trails a finger down from her collarbone to between her breasts and rests his palm on her stomach. Spreading his fingers out wide, he relishes in the contrast in their skin. She, so soft; he, so calloused and worn. He tries not to tremble when he reaches down and feels her wetness. Soon she pulls at him, willing him closer. Looking into her eyes, he sinks into her. It’s heaven, it’s heavenly. It’s the closest thing to love he'll ever have and longs for her to be with him when his eyes are open. 

“Isaac.”

After, he watches her sleep. 

The beast is nowhere to be seen. 

***

He wakes and he’s not alone. Acres of creamy white skin lie beside him and he wonders if he’s finally gone mad with longing. 

“You’re not crazy,” she says smiling up at him. “You broke the spell.”

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.” She pulls him down for a kiss.

….and they lived happily ever after.

* * *

4.

 **Warnings:** AU; Implied consent  
 **Pairing:** Isaac/Scott

"And he's just beyond this door?" Scott asked the old man standing in front of him. He'd been searching for two months and could hardly believe he'd finally found what he was looking for.

The old man nodded and turned the key, opening the door and stepping aside to let Scott in. "I will leave you alone with him." He put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "I am truly sorry." And with that, the old man was gone.

Scott stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. There were torches along the wall, providing just enough light to make out someone lying on the bed on the other side of the room. Scott walked slowly toward it, bracing himself for anything.

He almost stumbled when he saw Isaac's face. It was still and peaceful, like he was sleeping. The old man explained that they found Isaac in the woods, unconscious but still alive. Their best minds spent weeks trying to wake him up, but nothing worked. He told Scott they suspected dark magic, but they had never been able to determine the source or how to undo it.

Scott reached down and brushed his finger across Isaac's cheek. "Why couldn't you have just waited for me to go with you?" he asked. They were to spend a week at their manor in the country. Scott was held up at Cout and Isaac had left before he made it home.

"They said they've tried everything," Scott said, grinning as a thought popped into his head. "There is one thing they don't have that always works though, isn't there?" His grin widened as he leaned over and kissed Isaac. The feeling of Isaac's lips pressed against his own caused a stirring that gave him even more reason to hope Isaac would wake up.

Scott stood up, looking down at Isaac with a frown. "Guess that does only work in fairy tales." He looked Isaac up and down, hoping for any sign of movement and stopped when his eyes were around Isaac's waist. He laughed, for lack of any better reaction. "Well, it looks like maybe that brought some part of you to life, huh?"

Scott looked back at the door for a moment and then pulled the sheet covering Isaac off of the bed. He found it curious that Isaac was naked under it, though any questions drifted away as quickly as they came to mind. His eyes wandered from Isaac's neck to his chest and stomach - this beautiful man that he loved and had missed for so long. "Maybe if I--" He stopped himself and shook his head. "No, that can't-- But it's worth a try, isn't it?"

Glancing back at the door once more, Scott knelt next to the bed and planted a kiss just above Isaac's waist. "I've missed you," he whispered before he opened his mouth and slid his lips around Isaac's cock. It felt right having Isaac inside of him again like that. He slowly worked his way down until he'd taken all of Isaac and could feel him in the back of his throat. He let out a quiet moan against Isaac's cock and was surprised when he felt Isaac's body tense. What followed was a much louder groan from Isaac as his hips bucked upward and he unloaded into Scott's mouth. Scott stayed there until Isaac was done, partly due to his own surprise and also because he didn't want to explain any mess when the old man returned.

When Isaac stopped, Scott pulled himself back up to his feet. Isaac was looking up at him, smiling brightly. "Sorry I didn't last very long. It's been a while."

"Isaac, god, are you okay?" Scott reached out his arms toward him but quickly pulled them back. He didn't want to do anything that might hurt him.

Isaac pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Fine. Very well-rested I'd guess. But fine."

Scott dropped down next to him on the bed and wrapped his arms around him. "What ha--"

"Shh," Isaac interrupted, putting a finger to his lips. "Time for all of that later. Right now, I just want to thank you for figuring out how to wake me."

Scott shrugged as he lay on the bed, pulling Isaac with him. "Just had to figure out the real meaning of 'true love's kiss' and the rest was easy."

And from that moment, Scott knew they would never be apart again.

* * *

5.

**Warnings: n/a**  
 **Pairing: Danny/Stiles**

And goes down in fire.

Hush falls over the courtyard. The remains chortle and pop at his feet, yet he hears nary a flame. His ears ring with battle. No wind spreads the desolation to more graceful kingdoms. The air is dead, soured with the rendered breath and flesh of the Demon Wolf, its head is lying at his feet. He grips his sword tighter before it.

But lifeless, it only sneers. Danny sheaths his weapon in favor of finding flight on the stairs. They are ages in rising, and even free of his helmet, he arrives at the fair prince's door with breast swelling, air-starved. He takes it in great heaves, composes himself, and shoves the door open.

"I am Sir Mahealani of the Kingdom Whittemore. I am sent here to ensure your safe travels into the hands of the Prince, at which time he shall immediately take you—excuse me," he interjects with a polite cough. The tower's prince is forward. Danny makes to refashion himself. It is difficult with the prince's mouth adhered to his neck. " _Excuse me_ ," he repeats adamantly.

He's sure that he hears _no_ coming from beneath his ear, but it's muffled and wet. Heated. Words warm him. His hand comes up tentatively to rest between the prince's shoulders, holding him closer for a moment before curling into the fabric and yanking him back. "Prince Stilinski."

" _Stiles_."

Danny frowns, appraising the prince. Fair, indeed. Hair messy, eyes bold and blatant in their interest. His mouth, waxen skin; Stiles licks his lips. Something in Danny's stomach curls, low with desire and greed. This is Prince Jackson's prize. Stiles is Jackson's key to ascending to the throne. Danny considers Stiles a second time, all the while, Stiles busying himself with removing Danny's armor. Stiles looks nothing like a prize. He looks—

"Beautiful," Danny mumbles, reaching forward with one bare hand and wrapping it around Stiles' neck. Stiles looks up from the fastenings of Danny's chest plate and smiles.

"I think we're on the same page now." A final tug and the metal jars itself away from Danny's torso. Stiles pulls it over his head, tosses it to the side.

A suit of armor does not lend itself to hasty removal, but it is with tenacity that the undressing is done. He finds himself in only his tunic and tights before he has completely embraced the idea of reaping Jackson's spoils. Stiles: pressed against him, flesh felt through their clothes. Human and desperate. Danny takes him to the bed with the grip of a knight. Stiles pulls his shirt away from his body, breeches from his legs, and splays himself amongst the sheets. Danny feels his breath leave him.

He can't divest quickly enough. Lowers himself onto Stiles, loves their mouths together in the stormy fury of a kiss, and reaches down to tease at Stiles' entrance. Finds something impeding his way; retreats to his haunches, staring between them, down at Stiles' hasty preparations. A wooden plug, it seems, and he looks to Stiles.

"I knew you were coming," Stiles stammers to explain, sitting up, embarrassed, closing himself. Danny opens him and takes him back down into the mattress.

His fingers find grip at the base of the toy, and he angles it, pushes it, twists it. Stiles bows up for him, taut, ready to be released. Taking the toy from him, Danny pushes his legs apart, and with one fell plunge, he is in the Prince of the Kingdom Stilinski. Stiles crows for it, taking Danny's shoulders into his fists, holding him closer, begging more of him.

"You were to be delivered to Prince Jackson," he moans into Stiles' ear. Catches the flesh in his mouth, chews it gently, loves it with his tongue.

"I don't want Prince Jackson," Stiles grinds out, one heel suddenly digging into the meat of Danny's back. "I saw you fight for me," he grinds down, pulling Danny back to look him in the eye, "I saw you humble my captor," he reaches his hand down to pleasure himself, "I listened as you ascended those steps. You are the first, Sir Mahealani of the Kingdom Whittemore. I will not have this prince of yours." The look in Stiles eyes has Danny closing his own, his release imminent, fast approaching. He loses himself when Stiles speaks again, forgetting all about the prince whom he swore to serve. "I'll have _you_."

* * *

6\. 

Warnings: none  
Pairing: Cora/Lydia  
Cora had first seen her when she was walking through the woods one day donning a red leather jacket and a matching pair of heels. She had someone at her side, so Cora watched from a distance, immediately drawn to the women, the wolf inside of her howling at the mere sight. She learned her name was Lydia, and often listened in on the conversations she held with her friends.

She saw the women more and more as the days passed. She was always with someone, until one day she wasn’t.

“I know you’re out there,” The women said, stopping suddenly and looking over her shoulder. “You can come out, you know.”

“If I come out, you might be frightened,” Cora said, remembering the horrid fire and the curse laid upon her and what remained of her family.

“You don’t know that. Come out and let me see you.”

Cora hesitated before walking into view. Lydia’s eyes went wide for a moment before she was walking forward and touching Cora’s cheek. Her thumb gently caressed her deformed face. “I’ve seen you before,” She said softly. “Cora. Cora Hale.”

Cora turned her head away. “You should be scared.”

“But I’m not,” Lydia replied. “You don’t look as bad as some of the other things I’ve seen.” Lydia’s hand fell to Cora’s shoulder and she smiled. “Are you hungry?” Lydia didn’t give her a chance to answer when she took Cora’s hand and started to drag her away.

“How’d it happen?” Lydia asked one day as her and Cora were walking through the preserve. It had been weeks since they officially met and gone out for lunch.

“My uncle pissed off a very powerful witch,” Cora answered. “and they cursed him and what remained of us.”

Lydia took a sip of her mocha, thinking for a moment before speaking again. “How do you break it?”

“We have to find someone who loves us,” Cora said. “Someone who doesn’t see us as monsters.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Cora looked over and smiled. “No, you don’t.”

Lydia reached out and took the wolf’s hand. “Will you come back to my house with me?”

Cora blinked a couple of times before nodding. When they got back to Lydia’s, there weren’t any other cars in the driveway, meaning they would be alone for a while. Lydia led her up to her bedroom and closed the door before sitting down on the bed, patting the spot next to her. “You can sleep here tonight,” Lydia said. “I’m sure anything will be better than that shack you and your brother share.”

“You don’t want me to take the guest room?” Cora asked, hesitantly taking a seat on the bed.

Lydia shook her head and crawled into Cora’s lap, softly kissing the wolf. “No, I want you here but only if you want to be here,” She said, running her hands down Cora’s chest. She grabbed the end of Cora’s shirt and pushed it up slightly, waiting for an answer.

“I want to be here.”

Lydia smiled and pulled Cora’s shirt off before pulling off her own. She leaned back in and kissed Cora again, taking the wolf’s hands and placing them on her hips. Cora seemed very hesitant at first, but she slid her hands down and cupped Lydia’s butt, pulling her closer and kissing her back.

Cora’s hands slid back up a few seconds later to undo the lacey red bra Lydia was wearing. She got it off and tossed it aside, before fondling the woman’s breasts breaking their kiss to lean down and suck on one of the nipples.

Lydia gasped, arching her back and slipping a hand between her legs. Cora’s hand followed seconds later, rubbing against Lydia’s clit making her moan and tremble, thrusting against Cora’s hand.

Lydia pulled her hand away, pushing it down Cora’s pants. The wolf nearly howled as she was pleasured, faulting a bit in her own movement for a few seconds. She tangled the fingers of one hand in Lydia’s hair and kissed her again and again, feeling a heat pooling in her belly. Just a few more strokes and she was shouting out Lydia’s name, Lydia following only seconds later.

The two girls fell against the bed, gasping for breath. When Lydia opened her eyes, she smiled and ran her fingers down Cora’s human face. “I think the curse has been lifted.” She pulled Cora in for another kiss. “Who thought I’d end up princess charming?”

* * *

7\. 

**Warnings:** Incestual themes  
 **Pairing:** One-sided Peter Hale/Derek Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Peter Hale, King of Beacon Realm, had everything that would befit his place, including a direwolf as guard for his kith and kin. One day his wife fell ill from eating a cake dusted with sugared blue flowers, dying in his arms only after forcing him to promise not to marry again unless he were to find someone who could be her equal in every manner than mattered. The king fell ill in his own right for six long years, his health only finding him once again at the realization that his promise could be fulfilled with his own son.

Unbeknownst to Peter, his son, Derek, could communicate with the direwolf who warned him of the warped miasma that churned in Peter's mind, and advised him to make only the most impossible demands as a condition of surrender to such a bond. Yet, for every new impossible thing Derek could think to dream up, Peter found a way to bring those things to him. The night before the wedding was to happen, the direwolf lay its head in Derek's lap in the high tower room that served as his gaol and breathed a blessing over him before seeming to sink away into a pile of fur that Derek clutched to his chest, knowing it would serve as a disguise to sneak him from the castle and stay hidden from any who might hunt him.

The skin made him ugly for all the direwolf had been beautiful, but it served its purpose to take him away from the castle and toward the edge of Beacon Realm where he found a guard station that hired him on in the kitchen despite the wolfskin he never took off. It was only when he bathed that he shed the skin, careful to hide himself away in a locked room. Little did he know that the head guardsman's son, Stiles, liked to peek through keyholes and fell in love then and there the first night, even as he recognized the wolfskin at Derek's side. The sight fueled his fantasies when he would take himself in hand during his own baths.

It was a surprise to Derek when, after he had been in hiding for months, Stiles fell ill and told his father in no uncertain terms that only a cake baked by Wolfskin, as Derek had come to be called, would provide the cure. Though his father objected strongly at first, Stiles met his eyes like a man and Derek was ordered to the kitchen. Derek had found himself watching Stiles as he came into the kitchen often to sneak food away for himself and the healer's son, but had locked away the part of himself that could recognize yearning. As he mixed the batter, he remembered it and was overwhelmed by it.

When Stiles cut into the cake, he found a ring and held it up to the light, shocking Derek to see it was his mother's; the only memento of his prior life he had carried. Stiles stuck the ring into his mouth and licked the crumbs from it before declaring that he would marry the owner of the ring. Derek stepped forward and held out his hand. "It was my mother's, but she is gone now so it was left to me."

Stiles stood and placed the ring in Derek's palm. "Then you are the owner and you will marry me." His eyes were certain, but his shoulders were tense until Derek's hand curled around his own.

Taking a deep breath, Derek slid the wolfskin off and let himself kneel before Stiles. "I will marry you."

A gasp caught in Stiles' throat as he knelt to join Derek. "You are the prince, aren't you? All of this time... You must know your father has been searching for you."

"What my father wants is something I wish to give to you rather than him." Derek let his hands go to Stiles' shoulders. "Will you still have me?"

Stiles smiled. "You have cured me of being sick with longing for you. I must have you now."

"Then, take me now before anyone else may." Derek slipped his mother's ring on his finger, overwhelmed with desire this time.

Standing, Stiles held out his hand. "Come to my room. I will strike a vow with your body that even your father can not deny." The promise in his tone sounded enough like absolution that Derek remembered what it felt like to be truly free.

* * *

8.

**Warnings: implied minor character death (canonical)**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

If you asked Stiles, it probably started that day in Emerald City, when Derek and Lydia fought and Derek ran away to live in the forests with the rebel animals.

If you asked Derek, it probably started when the hunters came back to Oz.

The truth was that the fall of Oz and the Witch started long before Stiles and Derek ever met, long before they were even born, because realms like Oz could not bear the lack of magic for long. And for all that Lydia, the Wonderful Witch of Oz, knew to manipulate and control, she had no magic of her own.

+

Scott dropped into Oz on the back of a storm. The debris destroyed Laura Hale's creepy dungeon with her inside it and Derek went a little crazy for a while. Stiles didn't really have time to play therapist for an ex-friend who wouldn't listen to him, what with the broken people Derek left behind for Stiles to pick up.

Erica, looking for her courage. Boyd, traveling to find his brains. Isaac, seeking his heart. They all had grievance with Derek the Wicked because his tragic destiny had only touched their lives for a brief period and left ruin in its wake.

When Stiles met Scott, he realized what true friendship was about – not that sore, achy thing inside him that wanted and wanted and could never be filled. True friendship was solid and warm and no less powerful, but lacking that sick yearning.

With the knowledge that they had never been friends, Stiles thought he could look at Derek and only see the enemy of Oz.

But what he saw instead was much worse. It was a sad, lonely boy with Stiles' heart in his shaking hands.

+

They met under the cover of darkness, the night before the rebellion would reach the Emerald City. Derek's pointed ears twitched with anxiety as he stepped into the clearing. Stiles could have come with reinforcements, had gone back and forth on it several times. In the end, he trusted in his own abilities should the worst come to pass. Scott and the others were protecting the city, nothing the rebels could muster would give them victory.

And Stiles wanted this moment. “You look like shit,” he said, because whatever they were to each other, they'd always be assholes.

Derek smiled. “You look like Lydia's pet wizard.”

Stiles stepped forward, right into Derek's space. He reached for him almost blindly, unable to stop. “Not tonight.”

They kissed, harsh and biting, like the battle to come. Stiles gasped and pulled away, just far enough to look Derek in his bright, glowing red eyes. He'd always been beautiful to Stiles where others saw a monster. Maybe that should have tipped him off years ago.

Derek pushed him backwards, down, where the forest floor had transformed into soft pillows. “Stop thinking.”

Stiles did. He let Derek take the lead, let him kiss and bite at his skin, let him mark with fangs and claws, wanted to feel Derek on him, inside him, as long as it could last. Derek whimpered at the touch of Stiles' fingers in his hair, moaned when Stiles began to drag them hard across his scalp.

“Please,” one of them groaned. “Please.”

They rutted together, no finesse, just pure need. Stiles could feel the length of Derek pressed into his hip, hard and hot. Begging to be touched. He reached out with his magic, curled it tight over Derek's heated flesh and bore down. Derek yelped with surprise, spilling all over them both, and the feedback slammed right into Stiles' gut. He came with a shout and a prayer for this night to never end.

+

They were huddled together, limbs entwined, when the stars began to fade. “It's nearly dawn.”

Derek sighed but didn't ask him to stay, so Stiles extricated himself and tried not to think about the dried fluid on him, the possession written into his skin. When he was nearly at the walls of the city, he turned back to where Derek had surely found his allies again and smiled. “I know why they call you wicked now.”

+

For all that the people of Oz would ever know, Stiles the Good and the Wicked Wizard killed each other in combat. Scott made a lovely speech about them. Stiles almost cried and Derek rolled his eyes at the obnoxious twisting of history. Their part of the story was over and their lives had only just begun.

* * *

9.

 **Warnings:** N/A  
 **Pairing:** Lydia/Peter/Chris

There’s the Disney versions of fairytales, squeaky clean and acceptable to parents. There are the originals, full of blood and gore where the little red is devoured, and the Big Bad is split open only to have his belly stuffed full of rocks.

And then there is this.

She doesn’t wear a red hood; she doesn’t have to, not when her hair is a glorious halo of strawberry blonde. But the big bad wolf still devours her.

Peter’s head is buried between her legs, his tongue delving deep inside her pussy as she writhes on the sheets, trying to grind herself against his face. But the hands that pin her thighs on the sheets are too strong and all she can do is wail into the gag, chasing the orgasm he denies her with a wicked smirk and another too-soft flick of his tongue against her clit that ratchets her desire higher.

“That’s it, Peter... don’t let her come yet,” the low rumbling voice of the hunter makes her shiver; she feels Peter’s gasp as Chris twists his fingers inside the wolf, can hear the slick squelch of lube. Chris is taking his time, tormenting Peter just as the wolf is tormenting Lydia, taking his time.

She closes her eyes and concentrates on feeling, her breath catching when Peter nips at her inner thighs, a hint of fang sharp but not enough to break the skin. It is enough to leave bruises, to go with the beard burn and she aches for more, for him to stop with the teasing and make her come already.

Lydia can feel him shudder between her legs, feel the sharp inhale of breath when Chris breaches Peter with his cock instead of his fingers, her eyes flutter open and she gasps at the sight of it, Peter’s proud back bent as the hunter slowly slides in balls-deep with a look of utter concentration on his face.

When he nudges his hips, Peter wails and his back arches up, his mouth leaving her flesh for a moment only for Chris’s hand to come up and grab him by the neck, pressing his head back down where Lydia is slick and throbbing, full of want and envy because she’s so hollow, so close…

Chris says something, too quiet for her to make out the words but she knows Peter had heard him. When the wolf moans and surges forward to wrap his lips around her clit and suck hard, she’s the one wailing, perfectly manicured nails rending at the silk sheets.

It doesn’t take long until she’s panting and twitching, so close to the edge she feels tears burning in her eyes. Her teeth bite into the gag, trying to hold back the scream that is building up inside her. Everything throbs, from her nipples – still wet and raw from Chris’s mouth and beard – to her toes, every push of Peter’s tongue against her clit electrifying.

His claws prick at the skin of her thighs and that’s what it takes to push her over the edge; pleasure rushes through her body in waves and she screams into the gag, screams until her throat is raw because Peter won’t stop, won’t let her fall back and she keeps coming and coming.

What feels like an eternity and a blink passes until Peter pulls his head back, his face wet with her juices as he gasps with his head thrown back. She can faintly hear him beg and Chris grunt in acquiescence before Peter stills, his body spasming as he comes untouched against the sheets and slumps down, his harsh breath hot against the wet skin of her quivering thigh.

Her eyes meet the hunter’s over Peter’s spent form; with a noise that sounds almost pained Chris thrusts once, twice and then he’s coming, too, filling Peter up with his seed.

A minute passes, then two; Lydia wriggles impatiently and Peter stirs between them. He moves deftly from underneath Chris, to take their weight off Lydia and to use his deft fingers, still sticky with her juices, to undo the gag.

His kiss is soft, tongue probing the corners of her mouth gently. When he pulls back, she smiles at him, before she turns to face Chris who’s now sitting up, rubbing his neck with one large hand. The hunter smiles and leans over to kiss first Lydia, then Peter.

As ever-afters go, theirs is a pretty good one.

* * *

10.

 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"Derek"

No response.

"Deeeereeeek... Come on, don't be like that. I already said I was sorry."

"You set my shirt on fire, Stiles."

"Technically, I set the tree behind you on fire," Stiles pointed out. "It was a spark that landed on your shirt, so I really don't think it's my -"

Derek shoved him up against a tree and growled, “You’re the one who made that stupid wish and you’re the one who doesn’t even know what the fuck you are or how to get yourself under control, so yes, it _is_ your fault. All of this is your fault.”

Stiles swallowed hard and tried to look more contrite than aroused, although that really wasn’t his fault. When someone frequently got slammed into walls and up against any number of vertical surfaces and said slammings had a tendency to result in an orgasm, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that a Pavlovian response was going to develop. And okay, so they were stuck in some sort of fairy tale world (they’d figured that out when they’d seen an honest to God _dragon_ overhead), and Stiles might have mentioned wishing life was more like a story to his new guidance counselor, but how the hell was he supposed to have known that she was some kind of genie?

And as if that weren’t bad enough, he had a whole host of freaky uncontrollable powers that kept showing up about two minutes before orgasm. Sex had come to an abrupt end when he’d turned invisible, since Derek insisted on being able to see the person he was fucking. A stellar rim job was interrupted by an unplanned teleportation to a local village that sent them both running for cover (and pants). When he’d eventually managed to talk Derek into a blow job, he’d been sure their problems were over. He’d gotten so close to finally coming...

And then he’d set the tree on fire. Stiles was starting to think he really was cursed, that he’d never get off again. He opened his mouth to apologize when Derek’s mouth came crashing down on his. And kissing Derek was a lot more important than any curse.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and moaned when Derek’s hands yanked his jeans open. “This time, I’m not stopping,” Derek warned him. “I don’t give a fuck what happens, so you’d better not set me on fire.”

“No fire,” he gasped, hips fucking up when Derek’s hand wrapped around his dick. “Fire bad.”

Derek just grunted and kissed him, rocking against him as he jerked him off. Stiles could feel him, hard and hot against his hips, and he really wanted that fucking amazing cock inside him, but that would mean stopping, and he wasn’t about to do that. He’d just have to make it up to Derek later.

It didn’t take long for things to turn sloppy and perfect and there was no way he was going to last, not after the repeated cockblockings. Stiles tried to warn Derek when he got close, but Derek twisted his wrist and all he managed to do was let out a garbled moan as he spurted hot and thick over his fingers. He clung to Derek, whose growls got louder before he followed him over the edge,

For several blissful moments, nothing mattered but Derek’s body pressed up tight against him, Derek’s voice saying how much he - _loved him_?!? Okay, that was weird. Stiles knew how Derek felt, but after the first muttered, scowling confession, he hadn’t really been vocal about it. It wasn’t until Derek kissed him and he still heard him say he wanted more that he realized that he could apparently read minds now.

But he wasn’t about to go into that right now, not when there were lots more interesting things to do with this new ability. “So is this the part where we live happily ever after?” he teased.

Derek frowned and said, “There’s no such thing as happily ever after.” _Even if I wish there was_.

Leaning in to nuzzle at Derek’s neck was all about getting round two started, not because Stiles hated the thought of Derek not believing in happy endings. “How about just ever after, then?”

There was a long silence before Derek said softly, “Yeah. We can do that.” _I hope_.

It wasn’t the fairy tale ending he’d thought he wanted, but that was okay. It was real, and that made it even better.

* * *

11.

 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
Soot still clings to Stiles's clothes from the cellar his wicked stepfather had trapped him in for daring to go to the ball. That doesn't matter now. He'll never have to sweep another floor or listen to his stepbrothers' demands. Part of him can't believe it's real, that he's really in the palace with handsome Prince Derek. Out of all the people at the ball Derek had chosen him.

"You're thinking too much," Derek gasps. He rolls his hips. One hand holds Stiles's head steady as Derek rocks into Stiles's mouth, reminding him that he should be focusing on the cock in his mouth and not on the way the soot on his pants is staining the carpet.

He sucks, opening his mouth wide to take Derek deep. He's never done something like this before but from the way Derek groans and murmurs, he's doing well. The hand on his head clenches and unclenches in his hair. It feels nothing like the way his stepbrother Ethan would pull on his hair when he was too slow to follow an order.

Derek's hand tightens and pulls back. His cock slips from Stiles's lips seconds before Derek comes all over Stiles's face.

Stiles blinks. His breath comes hard and fast and he wants. He wants so much.

"You look so beautiful," Derek says. It's not the first time he's said so – that was at the ball, when Stiles's borrow clothes had fit him like a second skin, just before Derek had stolen a kiss in the palace garden.

There will be many more stolen kisses to come, in the garden and elsewhere.

"Derek..." Stiles moans.

"What do you want?" Derek's eyes flash red for a second and when he looks at Stiles, there is only love and want. "Tell me and it's yours."

"Touch me? Please?"

Their clothes form a haphazard pile on the floor. It's a mess that Stiles itches to clean up but he's otherwise occupied. Derek's bed is soft and warm, especially so with Derek on top of him. Derek's hands explore his body, touching everywhere they can reach. One hand curls around Stiles's cock and he nearly screams with pleasure. He arches up into the touch, rocking into it.

His legs spread. Derek settles between them like he belongs there and Stiles wishes Derek hadn't come already because he wants Derek inside of him. He wants to be connected, united in body as well as spirit.

He must make a noise of want because Derek's other hand dips into his mouth for a second. Stiles sucks at his fingers greedily before they're pulled away and then those wet fingers are pressing up and inside of him, invading him in a way that makes him moan with pleasure. It burns but he's dealt with worse.

"Derek..."

"Come for me, my cinder boy."

Stiles comes with Derek's fingers deep inside of him. Derek's hands slow, gentle on him until his orgasm subsides and then Derek rolls them, shifting until they're lying on the bed properly.

"Stay with me," Derek says. "Be mine, forever and always."

"I will," Stiles promises, and from that moment onward they lived happily ever after.

* * *

12.

 **Warnings: implied underage**  
 **Pairing: Peter/Stiles**  
Peter put his loot carefully on the desk. It wasn’t unusual that he had no idea what his catch was, considering that he often worked for hire, but this time, the blind bargain was for himself. Okay, he was a master thief, but he was also a collector in his own right.  
When he heard that Deucalion, - the most pretentious asshole this side of the world - had something in his possession that was absolutely unique he just had to have it.  
He walked around the object (a covered bird cage, he guessed) and enjoyed the anticipation for a few moments before he yanked the thick fabric away.  
Peter blinked.  
“Well, this is not what I expected…”  
“That’s what she said,” came from the tiny creature in the cage. He looked like a regular teenager, except that he was about 8 inches tall, Peter suspected that he wouldn’t even be able to hear him if not for his werewolf senses.  
He leant closer to the cage, making the tiny human immediately back up to the other side.  
“What exactly are you?” He was fairly certain that it was infact a shrunken human, and not a fairy or something else, considering that he was clad in jeans and a flannel shirt, but it never hurt to make sure.  
“Um… I’m Stiles? I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m just your regular nobody, okay? Only, apparently I have a problem with keeping my mouth shut, because there was this english teacher we had, Ms Blake, except, she was actually a witch, and anyway, I only told her that maybe she could be a teeny-tiny bit more flexible with homework, and then she was like, ‘I will show you teeny-tiny...’ and then I was like this, and she put me in this cage, and then she told me she would let me go after I learnt my lesson, but then this Deucalion dude came and he was an asshole, and he killed Ms Blake and took me home and then… well, here I am, I guess,” the boy finished, topping it off with a little ‘ta-da!’ gesture. “So, would you mind letting me go or something? I mean, I’ve been missing for almost two weeks now, and I bet my dad is going insane right now if he didn’t already.”  
Peter briefly wondered how it was possible for someone so small to talk for so long with only one breath.  
He considered saying no, but the thing with magic like this was that it could backfire, and in his experience, if it could, it most certainly would. He would probably end up with charges of human trafficking sooner or later if he kept the boy.  
“Alright. But not right now. Deucalion is going to search everywhere for you, so I think it would be safer to lay low for a few days,” he concluded, to the boy’s obvious apprehension..  
Peter wasn’t someone to be trusted, that’s for sure, but he didn’t like being distrusted without earning it, so he rolled his eyes at his guest.  
“Is there anything I can do for you until then, Stiles?”  
The boy looked around himself, from the mostly eaten apple slice and piece of cheese Peter guessed that he couldn’t be too hungry, then his tiny face scrunched up in disgust.  
“I need a bath. Seriously, I needed one ten days ago.”  
Peter nodded, Stiles was palm sized at the moment, but still, his nose couldn’t help but pick up the smell of unwashed boy drifting from him.  
“Very well.”  
He left Stiles in his cage - just for safety’s sake - then quickly collected a bowl of hot water and a hand towel.  
As soon as he opened the lock, the boy was out of it, making quick work of exploring the tabletop, though there really was nothing to see.  
He walked around for a few minutes, then looked at Peter with as much annoyance as only a teenager could.  
“Would you mind?” he asked, gesturing towards the door. Peter sighed, but complied, the kid seemed smarter than trying to get off the table, he would only end up falling to his death.  
***  
Safe to say, Peter wasn’t prepared for finding the boy masturbating in his best soup bowl.  
And, most definitely, neither of them expected what exactly would break the curse, but in the end they were left with a broken table and - maybe - a happily ever after.

* * *

13.

**Warnings: underage**  
 **Pairing: Peter/Stiles**

"There are cartoon bluebirds tweeting at me and flying around my head."

Peter shoots him a look. "You're still hallucinating."

"They're cute." Stiles gives him a sappy look and makes 'come here' gestures with his hands. When his lover ignores him, remaining several feet from the bed and annoyingly dressed, Stiles pouts, but then brightens up and points to himself. "Now they're fluttering around my dick. Look, it's all hard and lonely."

The blanket Peter had diligently covered him with is at his feet and, since he insisted that his clothes itched, he's naked and squirming.

And, thanks to the aphrodisiac wolfsbane he ran into, his cock _is_ hard.

"Cocks don't get lonely. You're drugged to the gills." Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter just shakes his head at him.

"Nuh uh, just horny, and mine does." He sticks his tongue out, then crosses his eyes trying to see it.

Peter's phone ring and he yanks it out of his jeans' pocket, looking at the display before muttering, "Thank God," before barking into it, "Did you find anything?" Deaton's answer is annoying and not to the point, mostly because it's basically 'it'll wear off in a few hours; it won't cause any permanent harm.' With a growl, Peter stabs the off button and tosses his phone onto the night stand.

Stiles is still trying to look at his tongue.

"You're making me dizzy, stop that."

"Okay. How 'bout I do this instead?" 

And Stiles starts sliding his cock in and out of his fist, moaning like a harlot.

"Stiles, stop that," Peter sighs.

"Nope. The birdies like it. I like it." He glowers at Peter and arches his back off the bed as his cock starts leaking pre-cum over his pumping fingers. The young man is amazingly limber.

Peter's dick twitches.

"Shit..."

Sitting down on the bed next to Stiles, he knocks his hand away and replaces it with his own. Stiles moans, pants, bucks his hips and tries to grab Peter. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he begs.

They haven't done that yet. They're not doing it while he's under the influence, but they have done other things and, it's not like Peter has morals or anything.

Lowering his head, Peter sucks the tip of Stiles cock, making him shudder and howl. As he takes him deeper, his tongue licking the shaft, tasting him, his hand plays with Stiles' balls, squeezing them until he squeals in pleasure.

"Yes, oh fuck yes, the birdies love it."

Peter rolls his eyes, but starts to suck at a quick pace with a tight suction, just the way Stiles likes it. By the sounds he's making and the ways he's wriggling and twitching, he's really liking it.

"Let me fuck your mouth, oh please, Peter."

That's new.

It's also one of Peter's favorite things. Slipping off the bed to his knees, he pulls Stiles with him until he's seated on the edge of the mattress, slick cock right in front of Peter's face. Stiles takes hold of his head and Peter opens his mouth wide, then relaxes his throat as Stiles drives his cock inside.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Hell God shit..."

The tip slides down his throat and Peter lets the muscles close around it. Stiles' babbles turn to loud yells of pleasure, and Peter relaxes as the younger man pulls back, then tightens again and again with each increasingly erratic thrust. Stiles' fingers grip his hair and his hips bounce and Peter loves it as he hungrily deep throats.

With another cry, Stiles comes, body shaking, dick jerking and spilling cum onto Peter's tongue. He swallows it down, then licks his way up the shaft before finally pulling off with a lick of Stiles' sensitive slit.

Groaning, Stiles falls back onto the bed and Peter rises on trembling legs to rearrange him so his head is on a pillow. Before he can cover him up, Stiles grabs his wrist and croons sleepily and sappily, "And they lived happily ever after."

"Really, Stiles? Really?"

"Well, I did." He reaches for the bulge in Peter's jeans where he's been hard and aching since Stiles' cock first slid down his throat.

"Still not fucking you."

"Hand job then nightie night. The birdies are tired."

"Fine," Peter huffs in fake annoyance as he lets Stiles reel him in with a finger looped into his belt and his other hand cupping his dick.

* * *

14.

 **Warnings:** Smut  
 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Peter Hale, alludes to Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

The room was filled with raised voices; shouts of the opinions of others and the demands of the few who, in the grand scheme of things, did not matter. Chris was tempted to either pinch the bridge of his nose or rub at his temples, he instead settled for clenching his jaw shut tight. Of all the things Peter could have done, announcing to the entire court their intentions to marry, intentions Chris hadn’t really agreed to yet, was among the worst.

“Be quiet!” Peter’s voice echoed through the hall in only the way one raised as royalty, raised to be _heard_ , could manage to pull off. The entire court fell silent, the Queen, Peter’s sister, obviously waiting for the ploy her brother was about to make. Chris could only hope Peter wasn’t reduced to his boyhood penchant for speaking before having a fully-formed plan. “If my nephew, the Prince, is able to find and take happiness with the court jester, of all people, then I’ll be damned if anyone will keep me from fulfilling my hearts desire. Did I not do my duty as Prince and my sister’s heir, at the time? I married and produced a child of my own, forced to watch as the man I love married and made his own life away from me. Now the fates have brought us together again, and you would deny me this? After all I have done? All I have sacrificed for my family? For this kingdom?”

Chris pursed his lips the moment Peter shifted the spotlight on his nephew and his own scandalous relationship. He wasn’t fond of that move at all, but… it would be a lie if he did not admit to finding the rest of what Peter said touching, and… inspirational. But further showing his penchant for manipulating and putting on a show. As Peter’s hand possessively slipped around his back and came to rest on Chris’ hip, he really couldn’t find even a small amount of real annoyance over it. The dramatics, the manipulative ways that made up Peter… as aggravating as they could be, they were also a part of why he loved him. If it marked Chris as being slightly mad for it, well, he never claimed to be a sane man.

The silence stretched on, then finally… “You are right, brother. You have done your duty. I see no reason why you cannot have your Huntsman, with our blessing.”

* * *

There was nothing great or tender about their wedding night, but then… with how much time they had lost… they were past that point. Plus, no one would ever accuse either man of being particular tender, not even their daughters. So it made sense their lovemaking held very little of it. For a royal, Peter’s hands were surprisingly rough and calloused, the marks of a fighter, just as the scars covering his body from weapons of silver did. Not that Chris’ body wasn’t likewise marked, his own occupation just as dangerous as his lover’s.

“Mine, you’re finally mine,” Peter’s voice was rough and possessive. The possessiveness of a man use to observing everything around him as possessions to be owned, even Chris himself. Something they would no doubt argue about well into the future.

Chris grabbed at the bedding beneath him, resisting the urge to lean down and bury his face in the ridiculously white and soft material. It would give Peter too much satisfaction to see him submit to that degree. Instead he grunted with Peter and moved back in time with his thrusts, and then forward into Peter’s hand. Peter’s stamina was staggering, but Chris wasn’t going to give in… wasn’t going to disappoint him. But he hardly expected the bite to his shoulder, and how his frenzied state would change the pain into pleasure and give him that surge capable of sending him tumbling over the edge, losing himself in orgasm as Peter began to frantically slam into his entirely too human body until he himself was joining him with a shout.

Later, Chris laid completely spent of all energy, Peter stroking his back, up and down along his spine. “You know, Chris, if we’re to have a proper ‘happily ever after’, we’re going to have to work on your stamina.”

“... you’ll be the death of me,” Chris responded, a little smile on his lips as Peter leaned down to kiss him.

* * *

15.

 **Warnings:** No Warnings  
 **Pairing:** Allison/Scott

By the time the wedding winds down and Scott finds himself ushered down the hallways towards his new bedroom by several giggling servant girls, the food in his stomach feels like lead and nervousness twists like a serpent in his chest. He's walked the halls of Castle Argent several times now but it still looks impossibly huge and fine, incomparable to the hold he'd served as a knight in before.

The princess' room is richly decorated in furs and tapestries. A fire roars in the hearth. She is still wearing her wedding dress.

"The prince consort, Your Highness," one of the girls says, bowing.

Scott bows too. He winces when an elbow digs into his side.

"You don't bow like that to your wife," the girl who'd announced his presence hisses in disapproval. "You're her equal now."

He straightens quickly enough to catch the amused quirk of the princess' lips as the servants leave. They close the door behind them.

"Sir Scott," she says and holds our her hand.

It looks small and elegant in his but her palm is calloused and her grip strong. "Princess Allison," he says. He leans down to kiss her. She tilts her face to his, meeting him halfway.

It is not the first time they've kissed, but it's the first time they've been unchaperoned.

The kiss starts like the one during the ceremony, chaste and unobjectionable. But when Scott puts his hands on Allison's waist, her lips part. Her tongue, hot and wet, presses into his mouth. He groans against her and, feeling daring, runs his hands up her corset until the tips of his thumbs just barely brush against her breasts.

Her laugh is low and throaty. "Enjoy it now," she says, "I only wear it on special occasions."

Her dress is in the way. There's something under it to keep it poofy and he keeps stepping on the fabric when he tries to press against her. "I want to see you without the dress," he says. He adds, when she stills and twists, "You don't have to if you don't --"

"Shut up and help me," she interrupts, already pulling her arms free and struggling out of the corset. "I always forget how much I hate these things." It takes several minutes to successfully free her, but eventually there is a pile of fabric on the ground and she's naked before him, pulling at his clothes. "Yours too."

They tumble onto the bed in a mess of limbs and bare skin. Scott kisses her mouth, her jaw, her throat. He ducks lower to run his tongue against her nipples. Her hand clenches tight in his hair and her breath hitches.

Allison guides his head lower, until Scott's on his knees between her legs, nose buried in the patch of hair above her cunt. He inhales deeply and drags his tongue over her slick wetness. Her moan escapes like a sigh.

With her direction, Scott licks and sucks and curls his fingers inside her until she gasps and spasms around him. Her body goes limp as she catches her breath. Her face, smiling and affectionate and covered in a faint sheen of sweat, is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

She hooks one leg around his waist, easy and relaxed. He slides right into her hot tightness. Her skin tastes like sweat and her warm breath against his ear sends an excited shiver down his back. Her fingertips dig into his back as he thrusts into her and she rocks her hips against his in encouragement.

He comes inside her, panting, with his face tucked against her throat and her nails digging into his ass. He nuzzles her cheek with his. She makes a pleased sound and wraps her arms around him, then rolls him off her with ease.

Scott props himself up on his side. She smiles at him and tucks herself against his chest.

"What would you have done if you didn't like me, when I came to rescue you from the cursed tower?" he wonders.

"I don't know, refused to come with you? I never really thought about it. Knights never get past the chamber of poisonous gases." She trails her fingers down his arm, unconcerned.

Scott frowns. "I don't remember poison gas on my way up. I didn't have a plan for poison gas."

His new wife laughs. "I know. That's why I went down and disabled it."

* * *

16.

**Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

Deep.

Deep.  
Deep in the forest, there is a tree in the heart of Beacon Hills wood. Vast and pure, strong and old. It’s roots are broad and snake deep into the earth. It’s depths nobody knows. The tree has been here longer than any living thing and it bleeds magic by the moon’s glow, for it is the heart of the forest.

  
It is said…  
 **Whomever carves their intertwined emblems into the tree,  
forever lovers they shall be**  


A story every child knows, a story passed down to all.

 

Today we find our lovers. Fastened to the mighty trunk with red linen. Hands bound and legs spread. The lovers joined and the bottom bred. A fanged howl and a freckled smile. Two lovers joined by kisses and flesh, a hard line of slick and breath.

Marriage rights. Derek holds Stiles’s legs, hitched up around his waist. He feeds himself into Stiles with a hunger fueled by the power of the mighty tree. They kiss and rut, cry out for the moon gods to hear their declaration.

Below Stiles’s back, on the flattest part of the trunk, there is a carved triskele with an S that twines through it’s spirals. Just moments before, Derek carved their marks into the meat of the tree with his claws while Stiles held himself pressed to his back.

 _“I marry you, I marry you, I marry you,”_ Stiles chants almost too quiet into his ear. A smile creeps across his mate’s hairied face.

 _“I love you, I love you, I love you,”_ Derek purrs back, and Stiles hums his happiness into the air.

Derek slides into Stiles, calves shaking and fangs extended. They are wet. Wet with sweat. Wet with each others kisses. Stiles’s hands are balled in their restraints. Tied loosely, but efficiently, his body wound with blood red linen, holding him to the tree. Derek’s hands move from the cradle of Stiles’s thighs and travel a path from hips to chest, then down the long line of his arms. He touches Stiles’s palms, silently asking him to open his fist so they can twine their fingers together.

It’s only been minutes since Derek shed them both of their wedding clothes, tied them both to the Nemeton and without preamble fucked up into Stiles’s body. He’s losing himself. Losing control.

Stiles whispers, “let go,” and Derek does. Derek fucks him with all the same intensity that he had the first time he claimed his true love, in this same forest so many months ago.

Their combined moans awaken the magic of the great tree. The full moon high in the sky, the affirmations of love. Thoughts of family and pleasure and mates.

Derek feels their love in his bones. He feels complete and looks Stiles in the eye, sees the bond they share written across Stiles’s face. He thanks the moon gods for giving him his grand match. And with the these thoughts consuming him, he pushes his face into Stiles’s chest, inhales his scent and comes inside his husband with fervency.

Stiles kisses Derek through his climax. Peppers his lips and face with tiny kisses while Derek catches his breath and pulls himself free of Stiles. Stiles’s thighs are a wet mess, and that makes Derek beam.

He starts to undo the knots holding them to the tree.

“Hurry up. I want to make you as messy as you’ve made me,” Stiles teases.

“Not a chance,” Derek answers with a playful smirk. As soon as the linen falls to the ground, Derek grabs Stiles and flips him so his back is painting Derek’s front. He pushes his face into Stiles’s neck, breathes against his ear, rekindling the spark from just moments ago. Derek lays hands on Stiles, coaxing the climax from him, and Stiles spills himself right over their freshly carved letters adorning the great tree.

After, their isn’t much talk, just little giggles and kisses exchanged between redressing. The lovers don’t stop touching and exchanging glances between one another.

As they leave and make way back to their small house at the edge of the woods, both stop and take one last look at the vast tree.

“We’re coming back here again,” Stiles says. “Many, _many_ times. And next time, I’m tying you up to the tree, _husband_.”

“As you wish,” Derek teases with a quick flash of his eyes.

 

The magic of the Nemeton was strong that night. Derek and Stiles were blessed with a large beautiful family from their matings at the magical tree. They lived a fruitful, long life together.

Happily.  
Ever.  
After.

* * *

17.

**Warnings: Voyeurism**  
 **Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski**

**Once Upon a Dream**

The first time Derek saw Stiles was in the forest that borders the Kingdom. Stiles was walking alone picking berries and complaining to the animals that were following him.

“I mean seriously, Scott.” He turned around and picked up a brown bunny. “How am I ever supposed to find _the one_ if I’m not even allowed a mile away from home.” The bunny’s ears twitched and it kicked its tiny legs out and Stiles huffed. “Sure, take their side.” He put the bunny down and continued his rant.

Derek was immediately charmed. Stiles spoke enthusiastically and made dramatic hand gestures to his furry audience while keeping a delightful smile on his face. He seemed as tall as Derek but much leaner, his skin was fair and perfect, decorated with a series of subtle moles that had Derek wondering how much of his body they covered. His hair was dark and a few inches long and he had a delicate upturned nose that made his face all the more captivating. He began to walk towards the boy to introduce himself.

“Ugh, I wish you guys could understand. The man in my dreams is _perfect_.” Derek stopped in his tracks and took cover behind a tree. “I mean—he’s tall, strong, has dark hair and impossible eyes.” He sighed and leaned against a tree a few feet in front of Derek, but hadn’t noticed him. “I just wish I could meet him so he could take me like he does in my dreams.” He said while biting his lips and Derek’s heart began to beat quickly at Stiles’ words and at his mouth. 

Stiles sat at the base of the tree and closed his eyes as he untied his trousers, giving Derek a view of his hard length and pert ass. “At night, I dream he kisses me until I can’t breathe, undresses me and stares as if he wants to consume me.” Stiles began to stroke himself, moaning as his other hand traveled under his shirt and pinched his nipple causing his entire body to shiver at the touch. Derek was beginning to feel himself grow in his trousers, licking his dry lips when Stiles’ voice became huskier. “He kisses every inch of my body, but never where I need him until I feel like I’m desperate for it.” Derek’s eyes widened and his breath caught at the confession. “He makes me beg him to fuck me.” Derek forced himself to stay put when the boy spread his legs and began stroking faster.

“He takes his time opening me up, hitting me right where it makes me see stars over and over again.” When Stiles began panting and making more delicious noises, Derek thought for a moment about leaving but instead he stepped out from behind the tree and moved carefully to get a better view when Stiles got louder. Stiles’ eyes were closed, his face flushed, mouth obscenely open and his head thrown back in bliss as his hand moved hastily.

Derek watched as Stiles brought himself to the brink of orgasm, body tensed and chest heaving, hand moving desperately on his length. “Then—he—he finally thrusts himself inside me—filling me up until I—I—fuck!” Calling out for his dream man, Stiles spilled onto the forest floor. He looked utterly wrecked and sated and Derek wanted nothing more than to be the reason Stiles looked like that.

When Stiles began to gather his things after he redressed himself, Derek stepped up to him, revealing himself. He would never forget the blush that ran down from Stiles’ face to his throat when he saw Derek for the first time. He kept sneaking nervous glances back to the tree, probably wondering if Derek saw or heard him. He told Derek that he wasn’t allowed to speak to strangers. Derek’s only response was to smile and say, “I’m not a stranger, we’ve met before.”

Stiles gaped at him and with wide golden eyes asked, “When?”

“Once upon a dream.” Derek leaned forwards and gave Stiles a chaste kiss. Stiles seemed shocked at the gesture until he blinked a few times and wrapped his arm around Derek’s neck, pulling him back into a deeper kiss. They both moaned at the contact and when their lips parted Derek knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life taking Stiles apart until he looked as debauched as he did on the forest floor. 

And together, they lived happily ever after.

**~*~ The End ~*~**

* * *

18.

**Warnings: Fairytale AU, Oral Sex**  
 **Pairing: Deucalion/Melissa**

Scott heard the soft moans from beyond the wall. As he was sneaking up the secret passageway that he had discovered with Stiles when they had played in the castle as children. Even though the moans indicated the Duke was entertaining one of his concubines, Scott took care not to hit a creaky step.

He couldn’t take any chances. The Duke was rumoured to be the best fighter among the king’s knights. Scott would need to wait until the Duke was alone. Only then he could jump him, tie him up and get the duke to release his mother. Scott still blamed himself for leaving home to study the art of healing in the druid’s camp. As he returned Allison told him his mother had been taken by the duke and Scott hadn’t hesitated for a second to infiltrate the castle.

A loud moan among the softer ones made him shudder: With each step he heard those soft moans more clearly. Reaching the end of the stairs, Scott saw the crack in the wall. He couldn’t see too much as it was covered with something from the other side, but even there was a small hole. A beam of light fell through it.

Scott checked the floor for obstructions and looked for the dent in the opposite wall where the secret passage came up in the duke’s private quarters. Once Scott had everything memorised, he blew out his lamp.

Accompanied by more frenzied moans from beyond the wall Scott approached the hole. To see if it was really the Duke, he had to take a peek. All he saw was round table covered by a dark red cloth with a fruit bowl, a jug of wine and two goblets on it. Indicating the Duke was only entertaining one woman tonight.

As Scott tried to see more of the room the gasping and moaning reached a ridiculous intensity. The woman had to be faking it to please him: Scott had never heard any woman being this loud. Slowly, he widened the hole in the tapestry until he glimpsed them.

At the edge of the bed, the Duke kneeled his head buried between the woman’s legs which were wrapped around his back. Her legs, his back and the position was really all he could make out. It still could be someone else, but for now Scott had seen enough. He leaned back against the wall, listening as the soft moans all turned into deeper ones and then into lustful screams. Those lasted a bit; after they had ebbed away, the yelling came back a bit and then ended in one long satisfied sigh. Scott heard the smugness in the soft chuckle even before it manifested in the man’s voice.

“How about more wine? You’ll look a bit,” he paused as if looking for the right word, “perspired.”

The woman laughed and Scott found it sounded familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. Peaking again, Scott saw him walking to the table. He had to be the Duke, being totally naked the more prominent scars that Allison had told him about where visible to him. Even though this wasn’t the sight that disturbed him the most.

Scott observed him filling the goblets with wine when he saw a slender female arm brush past the scarred and muscular torso. Before he even knew it, he followed that arm to take a look at the woman with his enemy and gulped. Blocking his scream with one hand in front of his mouth, he stumbled back: the woman was his mother!

He had accidentally spied on his mother having sex ...

Backing off towards the stairs, Scott almost screamed when someone touched him on the back.

“Scott,” Stiles said, “when I heard you’re rushing here, I’d hoped I came in time. Damn, just like the Argents, any dirty trick to get rid of the Duke! Shame on them, you know, for telling you that he kidnapped your mom. Which he totally didn’t! Believe me, that Gerard fellow badmouthed him for no good reason. He’s actually been quite reasonable. And dude! Getting the Duke as your father-in-law, that’s actually cool. You’re going to be rich, live in a castle and …”

“Stiles,” Scott said and then again to shut his friend up. It was good news. He was happy if his mom finally had found someone, but Scott really wished he hadn’t gotten such a graphic image of how exactly she’d be made happy.

* * *

19.

 **Warnings:** Classism? Mentions of a relationship not being permitted because of class differences  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles, mentions of Sheriff/Melissa, Chris/Peter, Scott/Allison

Derek Hale was lonely. He was lonely, and he was bored, because his uncle and guardian Peter was too busy being freshly in love with his husband even after the years they’d been together and could hardly be separated from him. His older sister Laura was too busy learning to run the estate from said husband to hang out with or talk to him anymore. More often than not, Laura and Peter and Chris would all be holed up in Chris’s office while Chris taught Laura and Peter hovered. And Allison, Chris’s daughter and Derek’s stepsister/cousin, was too busy spending her days at the palace with her fiancé, the prince.

Derek took to helping out the servants around the estate, gathering and storing firewood for the long winter months, steadying ladders when the tall windows needed cleaning, learning how to cook and prepare meals in the kitchen. What he enjoyed most was the biweekly trips to the market in town. Derek would escort the cook and the maid to town and help them collect their packages and place them in the wagon. After the shopping had been completed, the two women would gather with other women to trade local news, and Derek would be able to slip away.

Several months ago, Chris had commissioned a cake from the local bakery for Peter’s birthday, and Derek had been the one to go and pick it up, since Laura and Chris were too busy and Peter didn’t know about it yet. Derek had fallen in love with the bakery almost as soon as he stepped inside. It looked heavenly and smelled even better, various pastries and cakes and breads on display, but what really made it special was the young man behind the counter. He had short brown hair, amber eyes, and pale skin that constantly seemed to have at least one smudge of flour on it. He was the baker’s son, and his name was Stiles. They connected at that first meeting, and on every subsequent trip to town, Derek would go to the bakery to see Stiles and spend time with him. Whenever he could, Stiles would excuse himself from the busy bakery and they would go for a walk around town or find a quiet place to be alone. The love between them grew as they got to know each other, and they had even started to talk of marriage, but it made Derek hurt inside.

He knew Peter would never allow him to marry someone as low born as Stiles, no matter how beautiful or smart or funny he was, and he despaired over never being able to marry his love. Their trysts were bittersweet after that, kisses exchanged in dark corners and secret places, with frantic groping whenever they could manage it. One such time occurred behind the bakery on a hot day that had driven most people off the streets and into their cooler homes. Derek had Stiles pressed up against the back wall of the bakery, Derek’s trousers pooling around his ankles with Stiles’s tossed aside, Derek rubbing against his lover and breathing in his sweet scent.

“By the way,” Stiles said, “Next month after Scott’s coronation, my dad and Queen Melissa are planning to get married.” Derek looked at him oddly, wondering why Stiles was bringing up his father when they were having sex. Stiles laughed and cupped Derek’s face in his hands, kissing him lightly. “Don’t you see? The King will be my brother. I’m going to be a prince.” Derek’s eyes went wide, and he kissed Stiles hard as he rutted into him frantically. Stiles gripped his shoulders tightly and moaned when Derek wrapped a hand around his cock and started stroking him fast. Stiles finished first, spurting onto his belly and Derek’s hand, while Derek came a second later inside of him. They stayed that way for a minute, and then they slowly slid down the wall to sit on the ground, their clothes tangled around them. Stiles leaned up and they traded several kisses, and then Derek pulled away and took Stiles’s hands in his.

“Marry me?” he asked softly. Stiles’s grin was blinding.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

20.

 **Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Allison/Lydia  
 **Additional Note:** Light BDSM undertones, collars (sort of)

"What is that?" Allison asks, eyes locked on the contents of the box Lydia's holding.

There's a pair of leather collars nestled between the thin paper, and they're connected with a long, thin chain. Each collar is white, 2 inches in width and covered with glimmering stones. They could be diamonds for all she knows but Allison doesn't care. They could be glass and she'd still wear Lydia's collar with pride.

No, the problem, as it were, is the size. Both collars don't look big enough to be worn around the neck. "Lydia?" Allison questions.

Lydia waits for her to pick a sparkling leather strip up before picking it's twin up, wrapping it and the chain around one wrist. "I think this is more us. More equal footing." She explains quietly, pink flush running down her chest and dipping under the cream corset she's wearing.

Momentarily distracted by the color, it takes Allison a beat to realize that Lydia is slipping the leather around her wrist, making sure it's a snug fit before letting go. "Oh." She blinks at her wrist, smiling when she realizes what Lydia means. Her smile blossoms like a flower when Lydia shyly holds the second bracelet out.

Allison steps forward, so that they're chest to chest (something which makes her wish neither of them were wearing the laced corsets because there's nothing she loves more than the feeling of Lydia's nipples brushing against her own chest). She accepts the studded bracelet, kissing the bony edge of Lydia's wrist before carefully slipping the leather bracelet to its rightful place.

The chain clinks and sparkles between them. Allison grins, admiring how it looks and how appropriate it feels. "Not what you were expecting right?" Lydia teases, nudging Allison back, back, back until they both fall back on the bed.

It's Allison's hand wrapping around the chain which drags the redhead down with a surprised yelp and a giggle. The brunette laughs, delighted and so very happy. That particular feeling had been born the day Lydia had kissed her in her car after school, growing and growing until it's become this big ball of sunshine Allison carries around in her chest. And right it's pulsing with every giggle reverberating against her.

"I love it." Allison tells her wife, pressing her chin down to catch Lydia's eyes before pressing in to kiss those red, red lips. It's a beautiful shade, a perfect compliment to Lydia's complexion. And Allison has waited all day to turn it into a messy smear through dirty, long kisses.

She tries to turn the kiss from loving to filthy, opening her mouth and moaning throatily against a plump lip but Lydia backs away. Allison follows with a tiny confused noise, wondering why before being confronted with Lydia standing up and turning her back towards her.

Lydia shoots her a coy look before glancing down at the laced corset. "Help me out?" She asks, well aware of the image she presents. Allison takes in the stocking clad legs, the garter belt, the sharp curves of Lydia's shoulder blades before nodding.

Time seems to stretch and contract as she loosens Lydia's corset, holding her breath until Lydia wriggles her way out and turn around to face her. "So," Lydia smirks before straddling Allison's, pushing her down as she links their hands together. "How should we start the rest of our lives together?"

Happiness makes her answer stick in the back of her throat, causing her voice to thicken when she squeezes Lydia's hands and answers, "With some mind melting mutual orgasms maybe?"

Lydia hums, one thigh sliding high between Allison's thighs."Sixty-nine?"

"Perfect." Allison moans.

* * *

21.

Warnings: None  
Pairing: Stiles/Isaac, Stiles/Boyd, Stiles/Derek

Title: Stiles Stilinski and The Three Wolves (part 1)

“This seems a bit, uh, excessive,” Stiles told Isaac, who looked suitably cowed as they both studied Stiles’ naked body in the mirror.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Isaac apologized, wincing at the scratches on Stiles’ skin, the bruises on the inside of his thighs. “I didn’t realize it would get so hard to control myself. It just… You smell─”  
“Yes, like a sexy, irresistible buffet,” Stiles nodded seriously. He didn’t mind the bruises much, but it was mostly the claw marks that Isaac had scraped all along his back when he came that did the most damage. “I understand.”  
Isaac blinked. “Well, that wasn’t what…” he trailed off, noticing Stiles’ hurt look, before he tilted his head to drag his nose along Stiles’ hairline. He inhaled deeply and shrugged. “Yeah I guess you could say that,” he agreed, and waved an arm at the general direction of Stiles’ body. “I’m sorry.”  
“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” Stiles shook his head dismissively, looking around the area for his clothes. “It was fun, just a bit too rough for me. I’ll see you on Tuesday for burritos, though?”  
Isaac nodded, that wide grin splitting his face and making Stiles laugh even as Isaac pulled him closer to peck him chastely on the mouth.

+++

Three weeks later

“Did you talk to Isaac?” Stiles asked, staring up at the ceiling with a blank look on his face. The sex hadn’t been bad, it had just been… Way too gentle. Which surprised Stiles, because he’d been there when they’d gotten drunk off wolfsbane whiskey and Boyd had confessed the last time he’d had sex with someone they didn’t even make it to the bed. Stiles had shivered in excitement and then blamed it on the cold. It wasn’t his fault he expected some rough wall-slamming or floor sex, or something.  
There was a pause and the bed dipped as Boyd shifted awkwardly, before,  
“Maybe.”  
Stiles sighed. “You won’t break me, man.”  
“I’d rather not be the reason you can’t run without wincing during the next ambush and have Derek sit glaring at me for the next three hours. Isaac’s still walking on eggshells around him.”  
“Really? Still?” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “Christ, I gotta tell Derek to lay off the guy. We all got away fine, and he barely even sprained his wrist when that rabid omega pounced on him because he was waiting to make sure I was okay.”  
Boyd lifted himself up to his elbows, and Stiles turned his head to meet his “are you shitting me?” expression.  
“What?”  
“You can’t seriously think Derek was mad at Isaac because he got hurt after you refused to stay home, again,” Boyd raised an eyebrow.  
Stiles scrunched his face up, thinking for a long moment.  
Boyd chuckled, getting up and off the bed. “You need to get your shit together, Stilinski.”  
“Offensive,” Stiles pointed out, shaking his head fondly as Boyd pulled his jeans on and dropped a hand to ruffle Stiles’ hair, before grabbing his shirt off the floor and ducking out of the window.

+++

Thirty-two days later

“That was…” Stiles panted out, his fingers absentmindedly stroking through the hair on Derek’s arm, and his face comfortably pillowed on Derek’s chest. “I mean, wow.”  
Derek smirked, and Stiles rolled his eyes.  
“Oh wow, Scott can see your ego inflating like a balloon from across town,” he snarked.  
“If anything, I’m sure he would’ve heard you howling from all the way there,” Derek nipped at Stiles’ jaw, relishing in the way Stiles’ cheeks flushed.  
His fingers were dancing along Stiles’ back, sliding through the sheen of sweat on his skin and drawing indecipherable patters across his moles.  
“Well, you weren’t too rough, but you weren’t too gentle either,” Stiles said. “It was perfect. You were perfect,” he said, delighted in the way Derek’s ears were turning red. “Speaking of perfect…” he trailed off, humming thoughtfully when Derek made a questioning noise.  
“How soon can you go again?”  
He beamed up at Derek when he flipped them over, hovering over Stiles’ body. “Come here,” Stiles murmured, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smile even as Derek leant forward to press their mouths together.  
They made out for a few moments before began Derek nosing along Stiles’ jaw and sucked a bruise into the soft skin there. Stiles moaned, rocking his hips upwards against Derek with a breathless laugh. “Oh yeah, this one’s just right.”

fin.

* * *

22.

 **Warnings:** None, unless you can find any  
 **Pairing:** Sterek

“W-,” Derek clears his throat to keep it from cracking. “Why did you do it?”

Stiles had been out of bed for two days now after sleeping for nearly three weeks to compensate for the magic exhaustion. He had known at the time that he was digging too deep into his reserves, but had refused to believe it until he had woken up to find an Opal glinting at him instead of his Sapphire. He jerked around from the fridge, swaying, with wide eyes.

“Did it work?”

The noise Derek made sounded like a dying whale, and Stiles’s heart sunk. He looked seven shades more tortured than Stiles had ever seen them, and that could only mean it had gone horribly wrong. Had something backfired? Had they all come back, but half mad and the pack had put them down while he had been-

The hesitant kiss to the corner of his mouth was like a shock, and he blinked in surprise at Derek as his mouth dropped open. He hadn’t realized that he let go of the refrigerator door until Derek had his hands on his biceps to keep him from falling over and guided him back against the counter.

“ _Why_ did you do it?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. How was he supposed to tell him that he did it because he knew there was the chance that he could really bring them back for him? That he put his life and Craft on the line to make him whole? Stiles opened his mouth to at least attempt to answer him, but then it hit him why Derek was asking.

“You still don’t trust me,” he breathed, in disbelief. Derek was asking because he wanted to know what he was going to have to give in return. “Are you kidding me?! After everything we’ve been through, and you _still_ don’t trust me?! What the hell is wrong with you? I didn’t do that so you’d owe me! You-”

Derek cut him off, this time with his lips pressed against his. Stiles made a startled noise before he kissed back. It was a bit difficult to be angry with Derek’s mouth on his, and his hands roaming his chest, so Stiles put it aside for the moment. His brain could only focus on one thing at a time in the state he was in, and it was much more enjoyable to focus on the mouth on his neck as he tipped his head back and gave an appreciative moan. That seemed to be all of the encouragement he needed before he sunk to his knees.

“Derek what-”

He inhaled sharply as the werewolf peppered kisses over his stomach before sucking on the sensitive skin, and Stiles could only scramble to grab onto his shoulders as his head swam. Derek didn’t seem to mind though as he nuzzled at his happy trail while he pulled his pajama pants down to his thighs.

Stiles was shaking before Derek even touched him. The last thing he ever expected was to have Derek on his knees in front of him, and when he wrapped his lips around the head of his dick, he let out the most embarrassing sound the world had ever known. Either deaf or unbothered, the werewolf didn’t bother to stop as he swallowed around Stiles, and he moaned, burying his fingers in the werewolf’s hair. Derek’s fingers dug into his hips as he began to bob his head.

When Stiles’s knees went out from under him, he could have screamed out of frustration. This was not the time for his body to betray him! But Derek was quick; He caught him before carefully laying him out on the floor. There wasn’t time for the apology that turned into a moan as Derek wrapped his hand around him and went back to sucking his cock. His back arched as he whined, gripping Derek’s hair, and it only took a few more strokes before Stiles was coming into Derek’s mouth.

The werewolf pulled Stiles’s pants back over his hips before curling around him as the younger man tried to catch his breath.

“I could-”

“No.”

They layed there in silence for a while while Derek nuzzled him.

“’M glad your family is back,” he murmured sleepily, and Derek sighed before resting a hand over one of Stiles’s.

“ _Our_ family,” he corrected, and yeah. Stiles liked the way that sounded.

“Does that makes us mates, now?”

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

* * *

23.

**Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

“And they lived happily forever after.”

Stiles closed the book, put it on the nightstand, and leaned back on Derek, who wrapped his arms around him, hands warm on Stiles' naked skin.

“Well, this is the worst fairytale I've ever read.”

Derek laughs at him, and Stiles feels the vibrations through his body; it's warm and it's tingly, and it makes him want to crane his neck, let all the pale skin of his throat exposed so Derek will kiss it, lick it, bite it until it's raw and purple and marked.

“And what would _you_ know about fairytales?” Derek replies, lips brushing against Stiles' shoulder and sending chills down to his very toes.

He hums and puts one of his hands on the back of Derek's head, rubs there for a while, fingers going through the soft hair as Derek leans back into the touch.

“What do I--? Please. You and me? We are pure fairytale material, buddy.”

Derek hums and drags his lips over Stiles shoulder to the spot between his shoulder blades that makes Stiles pliant, all heavy limbs.

“How so?” Derek breathes out then, one of his hands slipping beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, fingers tracing the skin above his groin, nails trailing soft paths.

Stiles' breath stutters and his stomach flutters as the hand that had been absentmindedly caressing the back of Derek's head falls to the duvet.

“Well,” Stiles gasps out, “you are the big bad wolf, and I'm your little red.”

Derek's fingers lower enough to brush against Stiles' cock, and he feels it stir against the soft, careful touch.

He sighs and grabs at Derek's arm, puts his hand there to anchor himself, just a loose circle of touch as Derek's fingers lazily trace the length of his hardening dick and he stutters out an embarrassingly rough _yes_.

“But doesn't the big bad wolf want to eat little red riding hood in that one?” Derek drawls, and Stiles can _feel_ his smirk.

Asshole.

“Are you telling me--” he stops for a second to draw in some air as Derek finally ( _finally_ ) stops beating around the bush and makes a loose fist around his dick, pumps it once, slowly, and then again, “are you telling me you don't want to eat me out, big guy?”

Derek groans against his shoulder, open mouthed and hot and obscene, and Stiles smirks, feeling victorious.

“You like that, huh?” He asks, cheeky, voice a low murmur as he disengages from Derek's hold to turn around and push his legs together so he can straddle him. “You wanna eat you little red out, big bad wolf?”

Derek's eyes are bright and clouded by lust at the same time, and his hands come to rest on Stiles' hips as he pursues Stiles' mouth in a filthy, desperate kiss.

“I, _yes_.” Derek replies, talking against his mouth, words mangled and rushed, as his hands trail upwards and downwards, as if he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch first; as if he couldn't make up his mind about how to start devouring Stiles.

“Good.” Stiles grunts, his own hand fisting Derek's hair and tugging to get to his neck, to his shoulders,. “Good.”

He moves his hips in a little circle, feeling Derek hard and ready under him, and Derek moans, deep and husky, and it punches Stiles in the gut, rude and intense like it always is, even if they've been doing this for years.

“And we lived,” Stiles says, panting and pausing his movements to mouth at Derek's collarbone, “happily forever after.”

Derek stifles a chuckle on his shoulder, mouths at it for a while as he bucks up to meet Stiles when he starts thrusting again, and then says, “I don't think I can tell this one to our kids.”

* * *

24.

 **Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Danny  
Once upon a time, the great Kingdom of Stilinski fell under a curse cast by a powerful evil wizard, who held a grudge against the king's undeserved good fortune ("Bullshit," the king claimed. "What Peter Hale is jealous of is everyone else's ability to be a citizen in a kingdom for longer than two days without making everyone else hate them or getting kicked out.") and plunged the kingdom into imminent danger of famine. The crops wouldn't grow, the rains wouldn’t fall, and the king called upon all his knights to find a solution and save the kingdom.

The most celebrated knights of all, Lydia Martin and Allison Argent, were the first to make headway on figuring out the curse. "To break it," Lydia explained, "the knight Danny Mahealani must give three fucks for the Prince Stiles."

"Uhhhh..." said Danny. "Why me?"

"No one truly understands the logic of magic, we can only grasp thin threads of its mystery on occasion," Allison intoned wisely.

"Well, we're screwed then, because I don’t give any fucks about Stiles," Danny said.

"Great. Wonderful. Thanks," Stiles said, as he was a modern prince and liked to hang out with the non-royal classes and encouraged them to treat him as one of their own. The knights took that liberty a little too readily.

"I'm just saying," said Danny, looking pinched.

Allison opened her mouth to lecture him about the importance of saving the kingdom when Lydia, who knew far better how to manipulate Danny, interrupted and said, "There is one alternative way."

"Perfect, we'll take that," Danny said with relief.

"You will have to cross the perilous lands on foot in order to seek a rare blossom that only grows from the highest boughs of a tree guarded by a venomous serpent on an island of igneous rock surrounded by lava," Lydia said, raising an eyebrow. "The blossom is the key ingredient in a counter-spell potion that will be difficult to create and endanger the lives of all those who try to brew it."

"That all sounds fine. Better than giving a fuck about Stiles," Danny said. "Let's pack and head out at first light."

Stiles knew he had the right to feel highly insulted here, but he didn't want to appear a coward for backing out of such an heroic quest, and so he shut up and agreed to go with Danny. His father, the king, was so overwhelmed with pride for Stiles' bravery that he couldn't find it in his heart to complain to him about Danny not giving a fuck.

The first few days of their journey were uneventful. The perilous lands were, as per their colloquial name, perilous, but they worked together surprisingly well and saved each other from many an unfortunate mishap. Despite having no steeds, they moved quickly on foot and soon reached the desert sands, on the other side of which lay the volcanic wastes.

Nights were cold in the desert, but incredibly clear. There were no clouds or light pollution for miles and they could see the stars spread out above them like a second blanket as they shared one for warmth, huddling close. It was awfully romantic. Especially for two redblooded young men who had not had any other outlet for days.

It happened that nature took its course and Stiles could not resist bedding the knight Mahealani, who was more than accommodating and returned his love so enthusiastically and so vigorously that they got sand in places that Stiles did not previously realize sand could go. And Danny, who was always so pleasantly compliant and yielding to others, turned out to be a surprisingly greedy lover, and woke Stiles throughout the night to slake his passionate thirst again and again. Three times they rode each other to completion, and when dawn broke upon their third coupling the infertile plateau of the perilous lands burst forth in buds and greenery.

"What...?" said Stiles looking around.

"It looks like the land is cursed no more," Danny observed drily. "In fact, it is now fertile beyond even the kingdom's bounds."

"Wait, give three fucks...literally?" Stiles made a face at how ridiculous spells were.

"I did think the wording was rather clunky."

"And Lydia sent us on this journey because she knew..."

"She knew of my deeply denied feelings for you," Danny admitted, blushing furiously.

Stiles grinned. And lo the kingdom Stilinski was saved, Stiles never let Danny live it down, and they lived happily ever after.


	2. Group B: With Warnings and Pairings

25.

**Warnings: Werewolf sex, attempted violence**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

 

Stiles stands in a dungeon and stares at the half-man, half-beast standing between him and his father.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he says and it’s a lie. The wolfman knows; he bares his fangs in an imitation of a smile.

“You’ll stay in his place,” the wolfman says and Stiles feels the tingle of magic down his spine. Behind him, Stiles’ father cries, “ _no_ ,” but he’s ignored.

Stiles is already bound to this place though the wolfman doesn’t know it.

He says, “yes,” because even without his curse he would do this. He would never leave his father in this place alone.

*

The wolfman, Stiles learns, is named Derek and he was cursed by a witch. This is something they have in common, though Derek doesn’t know it. Besides, Stiles was technically cursed by a faerie; it’s a different sort of magic.

*

Stiles settles into castle life.

In the beginning, he and Derek fight often and loudly, much to the chagrin of the castle’s other occupants.

As time goes on, though, the fights lessen. Their words still bite but it begins to have a different feel to it; playful and heated in a way that leaves Stiles aching for more afterwards.

It isn’t just the curse keeping him there anymore.

*

Derek’s uncle - King Peter - had a hand in Derek’s curse, Stiles finds out. This knowledge comes the same night that Peter corners Stiles during one of his visits and presses a poisoned dagger into Stiles’ unwilling hands.

“You will kill Derek,” Peter says deliberately; Stiles doesn’t bother asking how he knows of the curse.

“Please,” he says instead. “Don’t make me.”

Peter smiles.

*

Stiles tries to stay away and fails.

It’s impossible; least of all because of the curse.

*

“ _Fight me_!”

The shout echoes through Derek’s chambers. Stiles is poised over him, his hand shaking with the effort not to let the magic fulfill Peter’s order.

Derek shakes his head. “I can’t hurt you.”

The words snap something inside of Stiles and he knows, with a detached clarity, that he’d rather take his own life than hurt Derek.

The magic tightens around him, making it hard to breathe, but Stiles grips the dagger tightly and hisses through clenched teeth, “You will no longer be obedient. _You will no longer be obedient_.”

The dagger clatters to the floor.

*

Stiles confesses everything while they’re still lying on the floor. Derek combs his fingers through his hair and tells him it’s alright.

“I can smell magic on you sometimes,” Derek says eventually. “I knew there was something.”

*

It takes a week for them to kiss. It’s a week filled with lingering touches and tension that never seems to lessen.

Stiles doesn’t even know what they’re arguing about, just that they are and then suddenly they’re not. Derek has him pressed against one of the bookshelves in the library and licks his way into Stiles’ mouth, groaning when their tongues meet.

Sometime later, Stiles gripes, “what took you so long?”

*

Derek’s hands press him into their bed, his tongue slowly driving Stiles insane. He alternates between licking Stiles’ cock and dipping down to press into his ass, growling his pleasure when Stiles whines under his ministrations.

They learned that first night in the library that sex isn’t as easy for them, not with Derek’s curse still in place. They’ll find a way to lift it eventually but in the mean time, they’ve become experts at werewolf sex.

“Please,” Stiles whispers, his hips shoving forward. “Fuck, Derek, please.”

Derek obliges, his tongue pressing inside and gently licking him open the same way he does when he wants a proper kiss. It’s obscene and it makes arousal throb just under the surface of Stiles’ skin.

Moaning, he reaches down at grabs onto his cock, slick with Derek’s spit, and begins to jack himself slowly. He’s so close but he wants this to last as long as it can; loves the feeling of Derek inside of him too much to rush.

Derek pushes his tongue in as deep as he dares, pulsing it in a way that drives Stiles _insane_ before he pulls out and crawls up Stiles’ body, dragging his cock against Stiles’ ass as he leans over him.

“Come,” he growls, rutting against him, and this is one order Stiles is happy to obey.

* * *

26.

**Warnings:**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

“A wolf,” Stiles cried, waving his banana and nearly nicking Isaac’s nose.

“A wolf?” Scott deadpanned, unimpressed. “There aren’t wolves in Beacon Hills.”

“Yes! Right there, just sitting on my driveway. Like it was a fucking dog or something, wagging its tail.” Stiles chomped off a bite, chewing with his mouth open. “And _then_ it smiled at me. Well, not really smiled, more like it bared its — his? — teeth at me. But it looked kind of friendly like.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

Stiles crossed his arms, effectively mashing his banana to his pocket and making a face at the mess. “Fine. Don’t believe me. No one ever believes Stiles.”

Isaac patted his arm. “Remember that time with the fireflies that you thought…” he began, but trailed off at the hurt look Stiles hurled in his direction.

***

“He was there again. On the porch!” 

“Sure, son,” John said tiredly into the phone. Stiles rolled over on his bed, phone cradled to his shoulder, fingers tapping idly against his thigh.

“You know, Dad, as local law enforcement, you should be much more concerned about the influx of rabid wildlife preparing to eat your only son than your current tone implies.”

There was an audible creaking of a rickety desk chair and Stiles could practically hear his Dad rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “Fine. You’re right, Stiles. I’m sorry. I’ll send a squad car to check out the neighborhood.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

But there was nothing there, of course. Stiles was beginning to wonder if he’d even seen the wolf himself, the moon full and bright as he stared out his bedroom window and down into the silent and empty street.

***

But nope, there was, in fact, a wolf. It was lying in his bed. And it had sharp teeth.

“Daaaad,” Stiles began to shout before being bowled backwards onto the floor, his breath leaving his lungs in a harsh whoosh. There was a terrible knife of fear that lanced through Stiles’ chest as that snuffling muzzle came so close to his face that he could count every bristly whisker. And then the pink tongue lolled out and licked along Stiles’ face with one rough swipe.

Stiles froze, panic seizing his muscles before breaking into a ridiculous laugh that boiled up from his gut and spilled out until his stomach hurt from the pain of shaking so hard. The wolf had the gall to look annoyed, swishing his dark tail and rearing up to place his front paws on Stiles’ shoulders and pin him to the ratty carpet. And then he licked Stiles right on the nose.

***

The wolf slept at the foot of his bed, and Stiles didn’t even think anything of it until one morning there wasn’t a wolf there. There was a man. A naked man. A very attractive, naked man.

Stiles pulled the covers up to his chin, suddenly fearful of waking the snoring figure. The man fluttered his eyes open and stared up at Stiles, the haze of morning hanging off long, dark eyelashes. The green eyes blinked at him, the color of moss, or one of those ocean pools, or—

“Hi,” the man said with a sleep-coated timbre, cutting into Stiles’ tumbling thoughts.

“Hi,” Stiles said back, grasping the edge of his blanket. “You’re my wolf?”

Derek looked at him, seeming to ponder something for a moment before curling up his body and sliding to seated in one sinuous movement that made Stiles both awestruck and turned on as fuck.

“I’m your wolf,” Derek said with a nod.

“Are you gonna put any clothes on?”

“Nope,” Derek answered, and Stiles looked, just because he could.

Stiles’ grin was huge, ear to ear, and he was rewarded by an irritated huff and crease of eyebrows from Derek.

***

“There’s a wolf in my bed,” Stiles giggled, and Derek cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

“Don’t tell,” Derek whispered, sidling closer and latching his hand around Stiles’ neck, drawing him into a dirty kiss and letting his body drag against Stiles’.

“Can I keep you?” Stiles murmured, throwing his head backwards and letting Derek nuzzle against his throat, breathing in deeply, scenting him. It was a move Stiles had grown familiar with, needed, craved, and he arched his hips, groaning as Derek reached down to grasp both of their cocks easily with a loose circle of his paw-like hand.

“Please,” Derek whispered, and the word sounded like a promise on Stiles’ sweaty skin.

* * *

27.

**Warnings:** light bondage  
 **Pairing:** Cora/Lydia

"And they lived happily ever after," Lydia finished with a smile, knowing her girlfriend would hear it through the phone.

Cora chuckled lowly, "That's the first retelling of the Three Little Pigs I've heard with all the pigs screwing the wolf."

"Ahem," Lydia fake coughed, "it's a fairytale Cora, they _made love in the moonlight_."

"Spit-roasting a pig just doesn't seem very lovey-dovey to me, and it's only an apple away from being a table setting," Cora said.

"The little pig was completely filled with desire and- _fine_ Cora, how about you tell a story then, and I'll pick it apart?" Lydia asked sarcastically, Cora always listened.

Cora flopped back on her bed, the humidity making her lazy, "Fine. Once upon a time there was a little red riding hood-"

"This isn't going to be based on our friends right?" Lydia interrupted.

Cora rolled her eyes and restarted, "Once upon a time there was a little banshee with red hair who liked to wander in the woods alone because she never listened to anyone."

"Hey! You can't-" Lydia started.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" Cora asked.

"I do," Lydia said petulantly.

"Good, then stop cutting me off. Now, the little banshee discovered a witch's house by mistake one day. She was about to go in when a werewolf ran her off course," Cora told.

"Obvious self-insert much?" Lydia asked with a smirk.

"Lydia..." Cora warned.

"Right, I'll be quiet," Lydia answered, collapsing on her bed.

Cora smiled and picked up the story, "The little banshee went home angry, and decided to go back the next day. She wanted to know what was inside of that house, and it wasn't like the werewolf lived there or would be around all the time. So she tried again at dawn, hoping the wolf wouldn't be awake. The wolf wasn't quite awake, and the little banshee got into the hall before being dragged out by angry teeth.

'What were you thinking little banshee?' the wolf asked, 'You could have angered the wicked witch!'

And the little banshee laughed, 'I would have screamed if she threatened me. Let me go wolf.'

The wolf growled angrily, 'You deserve to be punished little banshee-"

Lydia's breathy laughter cut Cora off, "Dissolving into porn a little early there aren't you?"

"Dammit Lydia, why can't you just let me tell the damn story?" Cora growled.

Lydia flipped over on her bed, excitement building in her stomach, "It was a flimsy pretense anyways, just tell me how you _really_ want to punish me."

Cora huffed, "Punish you? You think you deserve that after being a total brat?"

Lydia answered without hesitation, "Yeah."

"Fine Lydia. Y'know what, next time I see you- when you come down to visit me in two weeks- I'll punish you. And you're going to know exactly what will happen, so there won't be any surprises."

Lydia smiled, "Mhmm, and?"

Cora let out a ragged breath, "I'm going to start off by tying you open on my bed- and not that whimsy silk stuff you can get out of, but with the rough hemp rope- if you even try to get free, it'll rub your wrists and ankles raw. And I'm going to gag you-"

"With the jawbreaker gag?" Lydia interrupted excitedly.

Cora rolled her eyes, "Yes, with your damn candy gag. It'll keep you from interrupting my monologues."

Lydia laughed, and Cora grinned at the sound before continuing, "I'm going to kiss you until I remember what every inch of your skin tastes like, and then I'm going to bite you until you look like you're mine. And then I'm going to tease you until you're begging to orgasm, and you know what Lydia?"

"What?" Lydia asked brokenly, her body flushed and her right hand desperately rubbing her clit in tiny circles.

"I'm not going to let you," Cora said, pushing a cry out of Lydia, "I'm going to keep playing with your body while you beg for it. While you try to form words around the gag in your mouth, but they won't be clear enough. Not until you suck down enough of that damn gag to speak fluidly will I let you come. And we both know how long that can take."

Lydia's breath stuttered on the line, and when she had no sharp reply, Cora knew exactly what to say, "Why my little banshee, won't you scream for me?"

And she did.

* * *

28.

**Warnings:** Non-con via somnophilia **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"See," Stiles says, risking a glance behind him. "Once upon a time, there was a princess, and _that_ —" He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, pulls a face that conveys a mixture of rage and horror. " _That's_ not a princess. It's a hotbed of roiling manpain, capable of disemboweling me with a pinky claw."

Three faces stare back, unmoved.

"I'm not doing it." Stiles crosses his arms.

Deaton purses his lips. "He's unconscious."

"He'll die if you don't," Scott says.

"What makes you think I'm the one? Shouldn't we be looking for a mass murderer?" Stiles' arms twitch, and he lets them free. "Isn't that his type?"

"It's you, Stiles." Lydia smirks. "One kiss. If it works, everyone's happy, if it doesn't..." Her eyes flick down to Stiles' belly. "Your entrails remain intact."

Stiles turns, taking in the sight of Derek laid out on his bed one more time. "True love's kiss? Such a cliché."

Deaton clears his throat. "It might take a little more than that."

"What?" Stiles jerks his head back. "More? More what? More kissing? Tongue? True love's blowjob? What are we talking about here?"

Scott giggles. "Keep trying until he wakes up?"

"I'm going to die."

Lydia pulls Stiles aside. "It'll work. When he wakes up and finds _you_ — Well. The last thing he's going to do is kill you. Trust me."

Stiles sighs. "Okay. But I don't need a goddamn audience."

He bolts the door behind them. He'd rather not have witnesses to what he's about to do.

Stiles has always thought fairy tales were messed up. Some brainless idiot with a sword molests a sleeping girl and happily ever after? Nope. And yet, as he stares down at Derek's face he can understand the allure. He's beautiful like this, so peaceful, and Stiles can't help reaching out to touch.

Just a fingertip at first, trailing feather-light along the edge of Derek's lower lip. Then he leans over to feel the softness against his mouth.

Derek sleeps on.

"Tongue, then," Stiles whispers.

Derek is relaxed, it's easy for Stiles to work his way into his mouth, to taste Derek's tongue, to feel the heat.

He lets out a moan, because he's been dreaming about this for months, convinced it would never happen. He pulls back, just to see if there's any sign of movement.

Nothing from Derek. Stiles' cock, however, is twitching in his pants, filling as possibilities crowd his mind. "If I jerk off on your face," he wonders, "would you wake up?"

Stiles is almost certain that if Derek did wake, it would be the end of him.

Stiles presses his aching dick against Derek's thigh. "God, that's good." He shifts again, straddles Derek's leg, rocks his hips and registers the pressure of Derek's cock.

"You're hard." Stiles slides his hand over the front of Derek's jeans, watching his face. Derek doesn't move, but his breath goes shaky. Stiles flicks the button open, draws down the zipper.

"I have your dick in my hand," Stiles whispers, thumbing Derek's foreskin. It's buttery soft, the thought of what it would feel like against his lips explodes in his mind, and he wriggles down before he can stop himself. "If true love's blowjob doesn't do it..." He loses the rest of the thought as he takes Derek's cock into his mouth.

Precome oozes onto Stiles' tongue. He moans, feels an answering rumble beneath his hands as Derek's cock jerks. He wants to make Derek come, desperate to drag him over the edge with just his mouth. He bobs his head, sucking hard, then stills to tease the underside of Derek's dick with the tip of his tongue.

Derek's hips twitch up off the bed. He lets out a long, drawn out moan, his cock swells, and then pulse after pulse of hot, thick come hits the back of Stiles' throat.

Stiles swallows convulsively, keeps suckling even after it ends.

Derek, eyes wide, lips parted in shock, drags Stiles up by the back of his shirt. There's a moment when Stiles thinks he's done for, but then Derek kisses him, thrusts his tongue into Stiles' mouth and moans.

"You're not going to kill me?" Stiles asks when he has to come up for air.

"No," Derek says, voice still thick with sleep. He rolls them over, starts to slide down Stiles' body. "I'm going to return the favor."

Stiles sighs as his aching dick is enveloped in Derek's hot, wet mouth. "So it's happily ever after, then."

* * *

29.

**Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles/Derek

_Once upon a time, there lived a boy who was deeply in love. One day, someone discovered this love and took the objects of the boy’s affections, hiding them away with only a single clue for the boy to follow: a riddle…_

_With love’s first kiss, the blue awaken_  
then unto death is red forsaken.  
But should red be awakened first  
then it is blue whose heart shall burst. 

_A kiss for one, death to the other._

“What is it with this fucker and fairytales?” Stiles muttered, making his way to the bed, where Derek and Scott lay bound and unconscious. He’d figured out the note within minutes of receiving it, but was no closer to figuring out how to tell his best friend he was in love with him _and_ the guy he’d been panting after for years.

At first glance, the scene looked simple enough. Ropes held their hands behind their backs were burning their wrists and there was the shimmer of some kind of spell surrounding the bed and its occupants.

“God damned witches,” Stiles cursed. That spell had to trigger the “death” parts of the riddle. Kiss Scott, and the spell would make Derek’s heart explode. Kiss Derek, and -- Stiles squinted at Scott’s neck. Great. -- Scott would lose his head.

Climbing up on the bed, he settled between them and studied their faces. They both lay so close together, their lips were almost touching. Holding his breath and hoping that it wouldn’t trigger the spells, Stiles moved them the fraction of an inch needed and then leaned down and brushed his lips over both of theirs. 

The results were instantaneous. Derek growled and pushed deeper, locking their lips together in a searing kiss. Scott whined and trailed his lips down Stiles’ neck, then replaced Derek’s lips with his own while Derek pulled back to watch, his pupils blown with arousal.

Stiles moaned as hands started to roam his body, drawing up his shirts and trailing down into his jeans to cup his ass. He moans shakily as Derek leaned over and kissed Scott, a kiss Scott returned with enthusiasm. Stiles leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corners of their mouths, reaching out and pulling them both closer. 

The next few minutes were a blur of motion as clothes were removed and bodies were shuffled and hand and mouths were _everywhere_. Stiles had a hard time keeping track of who was touching who, and finally just gave up and enjoyed the pleasure that pulsed through them. 

He found himself on his back, with Scott’s mouth on one hip and Derek’s on the other. He writhed between them as they licked and nipped at the sensitive skin, then gasped and cried out when his hard cock was enveloped in searing heat. Looking down his body, he watched Scott’s head bob rhythmically as he sucked. 

Derek pushed up and licked into Stiles’ mouth. He whined when Derek drew away and then wailed when Derek’s lips joined Scott’s on his dick, lapping and sucking at the root before traveling down to his balls and bathing them with attention. It didn’t take much more than a hard, deep suck from Scott and the tip of Derek’s tongue nudging at his hole for Stiles to tense and shoot right down Scott’s throat. 

He lay there for a minute with his arm thrown over his face, catching his breath. Seconds later he was flipping around and hovering over Scott and Derek at the foot of the bed.

Scott had both his and Derek’s cocks in his hand and was jacking them quick and dirty. Derek wrapped his own hand around them, both of them growling and moaning, trading harsh kisses as their hips drove against each other.

Not to be left out, Stiles dove in and wrapped his lips around both cockheads, sucking for all he was worth. Hands in his hair held him still as they pulsed in his mouth.

Stiles pulled off with a pop and looked up, grinning, before reaching out to grab a shoulder each and pull his boys down to lay against him. Scott curled up on his right with his head on Stiles’ chest, while Derek spooned up against his other side and wrapped them both in his arms. Stiles still wasn’t sure how they had gotten here, but he was glad it had happened. Maybe they would get their happily ever after, after all.

* * *

30.

**Warnings:** crossdressing, rimming, roleplay, gender play  
 **Pairing:** Isaac/Stiles

“Why do I always have to be Little Red?” Stiles jerks back from Isaac, but there’s no heat in the words. It’s a familiar refrain, part of their foreplay. Isaac likes the push and pull of the argument.

He smirks lazily. “Because I’m already the Big Bad Wolf. I’ve got the big eyes.” He opens them wide, lets them flash yellow for Stiles, hearing the way his heart races in return. “The big hands.” Isaac raises them, flexing so claws tip his fingers. He draws the point down the line of Stiles’s jaw; Stiles shudders in return.

“The big teeth,” Isaac murmurs against Stiles’s throat, grabbing on, holding, pressing down just enough that Stiles goes limp under his touch, beautifully submissive. He tongues at the skin, tracing the vein, tasting the pulse that beats beneath his touch. Stiles’s heart is pounding, hard and steady, the need echoed in the rising musk of his scent. “What do you want?”

Stiles licks his lips, twists his head to look at Isaac. Amber eyes peer out from under lashes made even thicker and longer with mascara. A flush of blue stains his eyelids, lips plump and red before he bites them, cheeks warm and rose. Isaac’s breath shudders in his chest; Stiles is _beautiful_ , every day in every way and _like this_ in particular. His hand slides against Stiles’s back, anchoring him as he softly orders, “Tell me.”

“All the better to eat me with,” Stiles whispers.

Isaac laughs, low and dark. “All the better to eat you with, my dear.” He turns Stiles to the wall, pulls his hands up, spreading them high against the wall. Then he catches the ties on the front of Stiles’s bodice with his claw, one quick slice cutting them so it falls loose, letting Isaac slide his hands under the fabric, claws grazing against Stiles’s nipples. Stiles groans, head falling forward, hands slipping on the wall; Isaac grips him, pushing his hands higher, holding them there until Stiles maintains the position on his own.

“Don’t move,” Isaac murmurs. “Be a good girl for me, and don’t move.”

Stiles whines, heart responding with a swift staccato beat of desire as Isaac reaches down, yanks his skirts up over his ass. He pushes back, and Isaac palms both cheeks, squeezing them through the lace before he bends down and tugs it to one side, baring the puckered red hole.

Isaac starts with a lazy lick. He knows his Red _wants_ this, and Isaac _wants_ to do it, craves the intimacy of it. He slides his tongue around the rim, spitting to get it nice and wet as he licks, teasing at the small hole. It takes patience to do it this way, to open him up without any fingers first, but Isaac thinks it’s worth it. He loves the way Stiles squirms against his tongue, musk deep and dark. He loves the way Stiles shifts, one hand almost dropping, then stopping as soon as Isaac pauses.

“Can you come just from this?” Isaac whispers, breath hot against skin. “Can you come from my tongue in your ass when I eat you up?” He pushes it in, fucking him slowly, matching the shift of Stiles’s hips with the thrust of his tongue. Stiles is open and sloppy wet, hips rolling; Isaac feels the stretch of Stiles’s panties over his hard cock.

Stiles shudders with a surprised sound, the scent of musk strong as he orgasms in his panties. He shivers; Isaac rises quickly, gathering Stiles in, letting the skirts fall as he picks him up and carries him to the sofa, cradling him close. By the time they sit, Isaac has his own pants shoved down and Stiles’s panties are gone, letting him straddle Isaac easily.

“Do you _really_ mind being Little Red all the time?” Isaac captures a kiss, swallows the words as Stiles whispers that he doesn’t mind, that he loves being Isaac’s girl. _Good_ , because Isaac loves it too, loves how perfect Stiles is for him.

Stiles rises, sinks down on Isaac’s cock. “Happily ever after,” he groans, taking him deep, whining when Isaac’s claws tip into his skin and grip his hips. “Oh _fuck_ , don’t stop.”

“I’ll fuck you until the end of time,” Isaac whispers. “I am never going to let you go.”

He buries himself in his heat, losing control in a rough orgasm when Stiles cries out again. Isaac could do this forever, be the Big Bad Wolf for his Little Red.

* * *

31.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Sterek  
 **Title:** A Werewolf FurryTale

Stiles let himself and Derek in the unlocked back door of the house next to Scott and Kira’s after leading Derek through the gated fence adjoining the two properties. He liked the idea of that gate probably more than was wise. He flipped on the kitchen lights and grinned when his eyes landed on the packet of paper sitting conspicuously on the island counter.  


“I asked them to set this up over here, to give us a few private moments to talk,” Stiles said quietly, his heart beginning to race despite his best efforts. “I _know_ we agreed not to make any huge changes or any sudden decisions until I’d been home for at least the summer. I _know_.” Sucking in a deep breath, he gripped Derek’s hands harder. “I hadn’t planned to do any different, but then Scott called me a couple of weeks ago. His neighbors moved, listing this house for sale.” He released one of Derek’s hands and tugged the manila envelope closer, holding it up for Derek to take.  


Derek took the envelope slowly and carefully opened it. He tugged out the pages with Stiles staring intently at his face, looking for the moment when Derek understood and wanting to see that realization, to see how he instinctively felt about the idea. When Derek looked up to meet his gaze, shock evident in his eyes, Stiles blurted out, “Will you buy this house with me and move in?” He watched Derek open and close his mouth twice before Derek tossed the papers aside and yanked Stiles to him in a full body hug.  


“Are you serious?” Derek whispered against Stiles’ temple and sending shivers down his back.  


“Yes,” Stiles said. “I want to have our own home. One that we start our life together in.” He bit his lower lip before pressing forward into a brief kiss. “Please say yes.”  


Derek made a noise in his throat. “Yes, Stiles.”  


Stiles squealed softly and launched himself at Derek, kissing his firmly and clinging to his shoulders. He pushed Derek into the island and pressed forward until they were touching from chest to knees. “Fuck I love you, Derek Hale.”  


“I love you too,” Derek said, turning and lifting Stiles onto the island counter. He spread Stiles’ thighs and slid in close, running his hands up Stiles’ thighs to grip tightly at his hips.  


Moaning, Stiles tangled one hand in Derek’s hair and tugged him in for a deep kiss, wrapping his legs around Derek’s hips and encouraging him to rock into Stiles’ body. “Fuck,” Stiles moaned. “I want you so much. I’ve been thinking of this all day.”  


Derek chuckled and tugged Stiles in to rock his dick against Stiles’. “Me too. I wanted to see you well before the party.” He pushed Stiles back until he was laying flat, reaching out and flicking open the button Stiles’ jeans. Taking his time, Derek lowered the zipper and then tugged both jeans and boxers down. “I’m going to blow you until you can’t speak,” he said, lowering to lick around the head of Stiles’ dick.  


Stiles moaned and grabbed onto Derek’s hair with both hands. He cursed softly when Derek sucked the head of his cock and then pressed down to take him all the way in deep. Fingers clenching spastically, Stiles rocked his hips up when Derek pulled back and moaned at the way Derek pressed him down into the hardwood surface. Stiles forced his eyes open and watched the way that Derek worked at his dick; licking, sucking and deep throating in a pattern that Stiles couldn’t predict which left him trembling and crying out at each surprise. Faster than he would like to admit, Stiles cried out, asking for Derek to let him come.  


Flicking his eyes up to meet Stiles’, Derek curled his tongue around the head before sinking slowly down Stiles’ dick until his nose was pressed into Stiles’ abs. He swallowed around Stiles and held him down tight while Stiles convulsed through his orgasm, his screams no doubt easily heard by Scott next door.  


It took an effort for Stiles to open his eyes, his chest heaving with his shuddering breaths. Stiles smiled at Derek, tugging at his hair to bring him into a deep kiss that promised “forever” and “happily ever after”. 

* * *

32.

**Warnings:** Pydia, snark, sarcasm  
 **Pairing:** Peter/Lydia

 

Little Red

It was Hallowe'en night. And in Beacon Hills that was always an adventure. Lydia pulled the vibrant red cape around her while looking down at the short ruffled skirt and the basket at her feet. She wasn't sure what possessed her to agree to this but at least she wouldn’t be alone. She stooped down, picked up the basket, and headed out.

Her heels made soft tapping sounds against the sidewalk as she heard some of the children making their rounds. Lydia turned on the side street that led to Stiles' house. She paused, thinking she heard something when she was grabbed quickly and pulled into the dark part of the street.

"Well what do we have here? On your way to grandma's house?"

Lydia was still startled but the voice was familiar and she rammed her elbow back, only catching a bit of body behind her. "What are you thinking? You scared me to death."

Peter smirked and leaned into kiss along her neck. "No, death would be very bad. Only good things tonight especially with you looking like that."

She turned back and laughed; she couldn't help it. Peter had a fuzzy wolf's head hat with paws on. It was too fitting and even more cliche and yet. "Nice ears."

"Oh I have nice everything, you know that," he smirked, his eyes shifting and glowing blue as he leaned in and kissed her deep and pulling her close and pressing against her. His hands slid down to her hips and were slowly moving under her skirt, fingers inching inside the front and teasing her as they found her clit. "We have time; I've missed you, missed this," came the reply, hot in her ear.

Pressing back against him, she couldn't help it, he had a way of moving, talking, touching her that she wanted so much. They weren't perfect but there was definitely chemistry between them and right then her need was for him. They could be a little late.

Peter knew he had her when his nose caught new scent and it was his Lydia being turned on. They didn't have much time but he didn't need it right at the moment. He pressed against her, pulling the skirt up so he was grinding against her thin lace panties. All the while his finger was teasing her, rubbing and sliding harder and faster. he didn't like to rush but sometimes it was a necessity. He sucked along her neck, grinding, touching, kissing. He growled in her ear; he was getting turned on and he wanted to make sure she knew this was only foreplay and it would be along time until they could be alone again.

Lydia moaned as her head dropped back against his chest as her hips pushed against his hands. "So good..... faster... more..." she breathed hard as he got her more aroused and was pushing her to release. And it didn't take long either. Even with the kids in the streets, she fought as much as she could to not scream as she whimpergroaned and came hard and pushed back against Peter's body.

There was nothing quite so intoxicating to Peter as the feel and sound of Lydia like that. His free arm wrapped around her and held her tight, lips gently against her ear as he was breathing hard himself. "Forget the others. Let me take you home," he said, his voice dangerously low. He eased his hand from beneath her skirt as he held her tighter.

She slumped a bit against him as she regained her senses and waited a bit to let her own breathing get back to normal as she turned her head, looking at him and leaning in, nipping at his jaw as she smiled slowly. "You know we can't do that Peter." Lydia leaned back to separate them a bit and straightened herself up. Everything back in place she started walking back toward her original destination. "But I like when we plan these "surprises". Always." She walked with a glance back to him and exaggerated the sway of her hips and a coy look on her face.

"You're the devil," he said growling softly as he righted himself and followed her. "Here there little Red Riding Hood, you're everything that a big bad wolf could want," he said in a sing-song voice as he moved up closer beside her. He liked their surprises as well. And there would be more that night too.

* * *

33.

**Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

Derek watched as Stiles cleaned the cuts on his cheek with cheap paper towels. As he stood watching Stiles wince, he wished he had thought ahead and sprung for a better brand. 

“Damn it! What asshole aims for the face?!” Stiles tossed the blood-stained towel in the sink. “And just when my father was backing off some...”

“It’s not that bad-”

Stiles shot him a look. “We can’t all have freaky healing powers.” 

Stepping closer, Derek reached out toward Stiles, fingers a hair’s length from his pale cheek. “I can help, you know.”

Stiles gave a tight shake of his head. “I’m fine. You already got to play knight in shining armor once tonight.” Stiles turned away from Derek and tossed the towels into the trashcan. “I can’t do anymore tonight. Maybe I can get Lydia to help cover it up tomorrow before school.”

Derek followed Stiles out into his bedroom. Derek expected Stiles to bolt out of his loft, but Stiles stood fidgeting with cuff of his sleeve, keeping his eyes focused on the items in the room and away from Derek’s face. The only items of interest in the room were a bed and a plastic storage tub for holding clothes. “I love the collage-dorm minimalist look you got going on here.”

Derek studied Stiles. His scent was distressed. He may have sounded like his snarky sarcastic self, but he was missing the bite that gave Stiles his... “Stiles-ness.”

“Your dad is not going to be mad at you. It’s not your fault you know.”

“Maybe not be _mad_. But needlessly worried?” Stiles sat on Derek’s bed. “After, you know, _everything_ , he was just always there, never letting me get too far, taking time off work. You know, I caught him sleeping in a chair in my room a handful of times?” 

Stiles sighed. “I get where he’s coming from. I did the same thing after mom died. I remember calling up the station from my after-school sitter’s place and crawling into his bed, because I was afraid he’d be gone in the morning.”

Derek sat down on the floor, back against the bed, close enough to let Stiles know he was there for him.

“I just hate knowing, that not even two months later, I’ll be putting him through it again.” Stiles rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“But worrying about someone is part of loving them, right?” 

“Dude, I know! I know Scott took it hard and slept out my window for a week. And Melissa gave me that look, like she couldn’t bake cookies fast enough to make the pain go away.” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “And, yes, I know Lydia and Isaac were worried. And you...why did you even come back, Derek?”

“Something my mother told me, and-” Derek’s mouth went dry as the rest of the words stuck to his tongue.

“Really?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles’s slack-jawed stare.

“Do you care about me, Derek? Are we friends?” Stiles sang the last word, waggling his own eyebrows. 

Derek lowered his eyebrows, giving Stiles a scowl.

“What’s wrong, Derek? You don’t want to be my friend?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Stiles visibly deflated. “Okay. I’ll just go-”

Grabbing Stiles’s wrist, Derek pulled Stiles toward him and took possession of his lips.

It didn’t take Stiles’s brain long to join in and entangle his fingers in the small hairs on Derek’s neck, pulling him close. Derek inhaled deeply, the scent of Stiles sharp in his nose.

Derek shifted his legs, dragging Stiles down into his lap. The weight of Stiles pressed against his thighs. Derek’s throat rumbled at the feel of himself between Stiles.

Pulling away, Stiles breathed heavily. “Oh… _wow_.”

“Wow?” Derek’s eyes followed Stiles’s tongue as it ran across his lower lip.

“Wow. Just… _wow_.”

“If I knew a kiss could reduce you to monocyclic sounds, I would have kissed you a long time ago.”

“‘Wow’ is good, you know.” Stiles tilted his head. “How long ago?”

Derek shifted under Stiles. “Before either of us became a knight in shining armor.”

Stiles gave a little snort. “That sounds cheesy when you say it.”

“Oh, really?” Derek lifted one brow. “Because I was about to call you my hero, and ask if we will live happily ever after.”

Stiles’s grin was infectious as he tossed his arms over Derek’s shoulders. “I think we are all overdue for some happily ever after.”

* * *

34.

**Warnings:** sexual content (obviously)  
 **Pairing:** Chris Argent/Sheriff Stilinski

“None of you smell anything?”

“It’s the gasoline,” Scott said, “it overshadows everything else.”

Stiles stared at the worker’s boot that stood on the McCall’s living room table around which Scott’s pack had collected. Brown leather, thick sole, reinforced toe cap, mud stains, brand marked by a small steel star. Stiles had only come over for Scott’s help, but Scott was in the middle of a pack meeting and the more eyes, the better, right? Stiles had found the boot as he threw away a tissue in the trash can in the bathroom adjacent to his dad’s bedroom. There, it had laid with an empty condom wrapper on top. Cleary, an investigation was in order.

“Maybe your father killed someone and burned their corpse,” Derek, leaning against the wall, drawled.

“Hey!” Stiles snapped. “My dad’s clever enough not to get rid of evidence in his own bathroom.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, raising a brow, “implying _that_ would be terrible.”

“Couldn’t it be his own?” Erica supplied.

“Not his size. It could be woman’s, though,” Stiles said. “If she didn’t care about dressing up because she knows my dad well?”

Stiles glanced at Scott. Their parents falling for each other was something they’d hoped for since Scott’s dad had up and left. How great would it be to live in the same house with your best buddy? However, Scott shrugged.

“It _could_ be my mom’s, I guess. Doesn’t seem like her style, though.”

“Maybe it belongs to a colleague. Police officers need sturdy shoes,” Boyd said from his spot between Erica and Isaac.

“Possible,” Stiles decided. “Anyway, my dad’s into women, so it has to be a woman’s shoe.”

“Are you sure? You know what he did before he met your mom?” Isaac asked.

“Or who,” Lydia chimed in, chipper.

“No, I never discussed my dad’s sexual history with him,” Stiles said, horrified. “Why would I want to know that?”

“Since _my_ mom’s sexual history was a major part of our lives recently, I can relate,” Kira said, after clearing her throat, “but it might be important here.”

Sadly, she wasn’t wrong. “I’m going to have to see if he keeps old photos hidden somewhere... God, I hope he doesn’t have any nude pictures.” Stiles shuddered.

“Couldn’t we just ask people to try and put it on?” Malia offered.

“It’d fit a lot of people, it’s a common size,” Boyd argued. His words were half cut off by the doorbell.

When Scott opened the door, his eyes grew wide and the shoe was forgotten as he looked at a brightly smiling Allison.

“The doctor released me a week early,” she answered his unasked question.

“Well... great. Come in!” Scott moved out of the way. “Everyone’s here.”

A general chorus of surprised greetings sounded as Allison entered the room and Lydia was the first on her feet to hug her. The huntress beamed at them, but frowned as she noticed the boot on the table.

“Is that... what’s my dad’s shoe doing here?”

*It had been strange, going to John’s bedroom and knowing that his daughter, after a long talk between them, in which Chris thanked some higher power for his loving, understanding child, was downstairs in the Stilinski’s guest room and Stiles was just down the hall. They’d hidden successfully for five months, convinced their kids weren’t ready to be told, but of course, in the end it was a small detail that screwed them over.

As they went out hunting tuesday night, Chris had stumbled, gasoline bottle in hand, from the life-giving tree that grew on the bank by an undead witch’s watery grave as her doves had pecked at his face. One shoe had gotten stuck in the mud and swallowed by the swamp. The lone survivor, sloshed with gasoline, had gone in the bin after John and Chris had celebrated not dying.

“Knowing you’ll stay the night makes me want to keep you busy,” John murmured into the crook of Chris’ neck as he lazily moved against him, his cock pressing against Chris’ thigh. “Thank God for Stiles’ curiosity.”

“You encourage your son going through your things, then?”

John made an indefinite noise which faded into a low moan when Chris nipped at his ear and started moving his leg.

“Honestly? If I knew how to stop him, I would’ve ten years ago. I just accept when good comes of it now.”

Hard to argue with that. Chris pulled the sheriff up and into a kiss instead.

* * *

35.

**Warnings: Wing!Kink. IDK**  
 **Pairing:Derek/Stiles**

 

Derek didn’t fit in with the rest of the fairies. He liked to sit and read while the rest of them flitted and flew about spreading pixie dust over the land. He was the one who would go out running alone in the forest while the rest of the fairies gathered together and danced in the moonlight. Even his wings didn’t fit in, sure they simmered and glittered like all fairy wings should but his were black and dark as night while all the other fairies glowed and shimmered in fairy- bright colours.

Derek was used to it. He was used to being the odd fairy out. That is until this new fairy showed up. Stiles was his name, he had wings that glowed a deep chocolate brown, that flitted and fluttered as he talked. He did a lot of talking, laughing too. Stiles would laugh with his whole body and Derek was slightly obsessed with it..not that he would let anyone know this. Nope, Derek wasn’t going to let Stiles know anything and about the fact that Derek would daydream about the way Stiles eyes would go impossibly wide when he laughed. 

Nope, not letting Stiles know about anything like that. That is until they got locked in the pixie dust refinery together after the foremen went home for the day. Don’t even ask how it happened. Derek had the worst luck and apparently it led him directly to Stiles.

The evil sorcerer had somehow magicked it so that Stiles was straddling Derek’s lap while Derek was tied to the only chair in the the storage room.

“Stiles if you don’t stop squirming,” Derek growled into the side of Stiles neck.

“Well, what else do you expect me to do? Not like I can do anything else in this position,” Stiles squirmed some more.

“The chair is bolted down. How did he find the only bolted down chair in the land?” Derek groaned and tried to forcefully lift the chair off the floor with his feet.

Stiles stiffened above him and tried to move away from him, “You're not?”

“I can’t help it. All this stimulation what else do you expect?” Stiles said while staring at the wall beyond Derek’s eye, “plus the fact you are unfairly hot and I’ve kind of wanted you since I first saw you.” he whispered.

Derek stopped and held completely still not believing his ears. Stiles liked him. Stiles who could have any fairy out there liked him.

Derek got a wicked gleam in his eye and started rolling his hips beneath Stiles.

Stiles pulled his head back and looked in Derek’s eyes, “ What are you doing?” He said suspiciously.

Nothing Derek said as he continued to roll his hips. He let his wings fall forward cocooning them in a shade of black and shimmer.

“You are so doing that on purpose,” Stiles groaned and started meeting Derek thrust for thrust. “Oh god, I love your wings.”

Derek speeded up his thrusts against Stiles both of them working for their release. Stiles wings fluttering inside Derek’s both of them rubbing against each other adding to the friction between them.

Derek stiffened and came seconds before Stiles did both of them panting into each other’s faces within the cocoon of Derek’s wings.

“I guess this means you like me too?” Stiles asked, a hopeful look on a his face.

Derek just grinned and caught his lips in a sweet kiss breaking it only to say, “I guess you could say that.”

A bright light flashed in the room and Stiles fell off the chair as the magic dissipated from the room.

Derek just stared at him as he broke into peals of laughter.

“Dude, we did not just break that spell with true love’s kiss.” Stiles laughed.

Derek blushed and offered his hand to help Stiles up.

“Knight in shining armour at your service,” Derek grinned and tried the door which opened immediately as they walked out hand in hand.

* * *

36.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

“Good morning my wildlife adjacent friends!” Stiles sang as he walked into Derek’s loft.

“Uh, hi?” Scott replied, giving Stiles a weird look.

“Isn’t it a _beautiful_ day?” Stiles continued in his oddly melodic tone. He crossed the room to the windows and tried to push one of the panes open but, turned out, Derek’s windows didn’t open. Instead Stiles smiled dreamily and laid his head against the glass, staring out over the city with a look of—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Stiles turned around and gave Derek the biggest, sparkliest grin anyone in Beacon Hills like ever had grinned or ever would again.

“I’m waiting for my One True Love to arrive and sweep me off my feet and be with me forever!” Stiles exclaimed, clasping his hands in front of him.

Derek and Scott looked at each other for a split second before they hurried into action.

“I’ll check in with Deaton, see if he has anything on this.”

“I’ll start looking here and watch over… uh, Stiles.”

Scott rushed out the door while Derek pulled some books off his shelves and started to flip through them. 

Stiles stayed by the window and pined.

All was well and good for about a half hour when Stiles turned around abruptly and made sweeping motions towards the door. Derek didn’t even look up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I’ve got to search for my One True Love. He’s out there somewhere, looking for me,” Stiles stated and kept moving towards the door. 

“Right,” Derek replied flatly. 

Before Stiles could reach the sliding door Derek was in front of him, blocking his way.

“I must insist you move,” Stiles said, standing tall in front of Derek. 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “ _I_ must insist you stay, sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

“You are standing in the way of true love!” Stiles spat indignantly.

“No, I’m standing in the way of you getting your ass kicked,” Derek growled. He grabbed Stiles by the arm and started to drag him away from the door. “Come on, before I have to tie you up.”

“This is _unacceptable_!” Stiles yelled and struggled against Derek who caught onto Stiles with both hands, trying to keep him under control without hurting him. Stiles definitely had more definition and muscle on him than it looked but he was no match for Derek’s werwolf strength.

As gently as he could Derek shoved Stiles up against the wall and held him there by his shoulders, angling his hips to hold Stiles’ legs down from kicking at him.

“I need to seek out my One True Love’s kiss or I’ll perish!” Stiles yelled and bucked his hips up against Derek’s.  
And that was not what Derek was expecting. 

Apparently neither was his dick.

“Settle down,” Derek snarled, feeling his features start to shit just a little.

“Are you a monster, sent to keep us apart?” Stiles demanded, eyes widening. “I’ll slay you where you stand, heathen! I’ll put a sword between your—“

“Slay this,” Derek muttered, then leaned forward and caught Stiles’ mouth with his own. For a second Stiles went still, then he _surged_ into the kiss.

Stiles wrestled his arms away from Derek and wrapped them around his neck, pulling Derek closer. Derek crowded him against the wall and all but enveloped him.

Stiles opened his mouth and let out a sigh as Derek’s tongue sought out his. Stiles ran his hands up Derek’s neck and through his hair, letting his nails scrape over Derek’s scalp. In return Derek shuddered against Stiles and let out a grunt that made Stiles grin against his mouth.

“Guess I didn’t need to go searching for a true love’s kiss after all,” Stiles mumbled.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Derek muttered back. Stiles pulled back a bit and frowned at Derek but then he grinned.

“How about a true love’s blow job?” Stiles suggested. Derek snorted but sank to his knees without complaint.

* * *

37.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Isaac/Scott

 

**In The Name Of Love**

 

Once upon a time there were two boys, Scott and Isaac, who were dearly in love with each other. Scott had courted Isaac patiently for many months until, at long last, the boy had given and visited Scott in his room for the first time.

Isaac's eyes sparkled with excitement, and Scott couldn't help but kiss him, feeling like he would he die if he had to wait any longer. The kiss was chaste, but sweet nonetheless.

After a short while, Isaac slid a hand under Scott's shirt; hesitantly, his fingers trailed up Scott's chest until they found a nipple. Scott moaned softly, and Isaac smiled, but shook his head when Scott suggested that they take their shirts off altogether.

“I am thirsty,” Isaac said. “Please bring me a glass of water.”

Scott frowned, but he complied nonetheless.

When he had drunk, Isaac took off his shirt without further hesitation.

Scott kissed his way from Isaac's neck to his collarbone, following its curve; sighing, Isaac curled a hand into Scott's hair, but not to stop him.

“More,” he whispered, closing his eyes. When Scott nipped at his hipbone, he arched up with a moan.

For a while, Isaac surrendered to the caresses, but he shook his head once again when Scott suggested that they take off their pants.

“The light is too bright,” Isaac said. “Please close the curtains.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but he complied nonetheless.

When the room lay in twilight, Isaac undressed without further hesitation and sank down on the bed. His chest heaved and his lashes fluttered; it was the most beautiful sight Scott had ever seen. He dipped his head and flicked his tongue over the tip of Isaac's cock, pleased when the boy's breath hitched.

He continued until Isaac was but a bundle of hushed moans and involuntary jerks, yet just when Scott thought the boy must break any moment now, he stopped him for a third time.

“There is something I need to know,” Isaac said.

Scott looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What is it?”

Isaac's lower lip trembled when he asked, “How much do you love me?”—and Scott understood.

He lay down beside him and pulled him into his arms. Softly brushing a strand of hair from Isaac's forehead, Scott answered truthfully: “I love you so much that I can't eat or sleep, nor think or breathe without you. I would never hurt you, never betray you, never be unfaithful; I'd rather die. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. But you know all this, don't you?”

Isaac hummed. “I do,” he smiled. “I just can't hear it enough.” He trailed his fingertips along Scott's jawline and over his lips. “I love you just the same. And more. So much more.”

“I know,” Scott said, kissing Isaac's hand. “And now that we said it, can we stop this stupid fairy tale role play and just fuck like rabbits? Please?”

Isaac gave him a playful slap on the arm. “I like fairy tales. But I agree on the 'fucking like rabbits' part.”

And that's what they did all night.

* * *

38.

Title: RED  
Warnings: sex as a form a payment  
Pairings: Allison/Aiden, Allison/Nogitsune/Stiles, Allison/Scott, Allison/Lydia

 

Ally A has gone away, where no one can quite find her.

Everyone says that the red queen is a devil in disguise. Mop of curls and shiny green eyes, lips like a poison apple.

Allison is afraid to meet her. Much like she’s been fearful of everyone within the trees of Wonderland. You pay for passage by parting your legs in this world and Allison does because it’s better than going back home and being locked into nothingness.

There are two cruel twins she wants to call Tweedledee and Tweedledum. They have sharp smiles and sharper claws, but Allison makes them think it was their idea when she takes one for a ride. The other watches. Not her, but his twin, and by the time she finishes Aiden off, Ethan is coaxing his brother into his embrace.

Allison edges away from them but one calls out to her.

“Not that way. The Queen of Hearts is called that for a reason, you know?”

Allison just tips her head with a smile, and she misses Aiden turn to ash in his brother’s arms.

Next she meets a cheeky fox who calls himself the Cheshire. Mostly, he looks like a boy with elongated features and moles that dot his skin. His grin is all wide and mischievous and all he asks for is a kiss, but one she didn’t expect to give. His tongue is sandpaper against her clit, and she gets off quickly enough. He stays buried in her sopping curls for minutes, scenting at her wetness.

“Will you tell me which way to go from here?” dear Allison asks.

“This way or that?” he asks, sliding up her body until his tongue is against Allison’s cheek. “Why choose where, when each produce a scare?”

“The Red Queen,” Allison demands and the Cheshire’s grin goes saccharine instead of sneering. The lengthened features turn less frightening, and his teeth look less sharp.

“Through the garden,” he obliges and his leer disappears along with his body.

The garden is sad and startling. It has two handsome boys who look pretty when they cry. They probably would in death as well. Derek is all dressed in dark and tells her of the demise in Wonderland.

“The Red Queen,” he says. “They fall when she screams.”

Scott stares at her with shiny eyes until she crawls nimbly into his lap. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“Shh,” Allison quiets with a kiss to his brow. Scott holds her waist hard when she tells him it’s time for her to go.

“Stay,” he whispers, but she sees the castle and beating butterfly wings lead her on.

The palace looks dangerous, but there are no guards, only thorny vines and a moat of blood. The drawbridge is down though and Allison follows the apprehension in her stomach. It leads her forward to the front steps, where a weeping woman sits atop them. Her ruddy curls and painted mouth push Allison to come closer.

“Are you the red queen?” Allison asks, and guilty green eyes look up at her.

“Not that I asked for it,” the girl says and her sorrow is so thick Allison can taste it. “Oh, Allison.”

“You know who I am?” she asks.

“And I’ll never forget,” the queen promises, and then she’s standing, taking Allison’s face into her hands and pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“What do you mean?” Allison asks, but then the queen is pressing her lipstick red lips against Allison’s and clutching her close. The very breath in Allison’s lungs seem to leave for a moment. She closes her eyes and sucks on Lydia’s lower lip. The name just comes to her and so do the memories. A rush of them against her eyelids and a punch of pain along her side.

She gasps at the feeling and when she opens them, Lydia is leaning over her, hand against her cheek. Allison doesn’t know when she got on the ground.

“He said I couldn’t save you,” Lydia tells her.

“Who?” Allison asks.

“The fox,” Lydia says, “but he also said we couldn’t kill him.”

Lydia leans down, shares a breath or two with Allison before pushing in for another kiss.

* * *

39.

**Warnings:** Stiles is 17 here so technically underage in some areas.  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles, with metaphorical references to Stiles/Ethan/Aiden, Stiles/Isaac, and Stiles/Derek

Once upon a time in a faraway land known as California there was a teenage boy in dire need of an orgasm. Not just any orgasm, but the kind of bone melting, muscle relaxing orgasm that made all of your troubles fade away.

The teenage boy, known by the slightly unconventional name of Stiles, had tired of the wrist aches and awkward angles that came from fingering himself and decided he needed to get a dildo. Being a master of research he quickly found the online retailer known as Goldicocks and immediately ordered the toy known as the Big Bad Wolf.

Unfortunately, he soon found out that the toy was much too big. If Stiles didn't know better, he'd think it was two dicks merged into one and no matter how much he lubed and he stretched, it wasn't the right fit. 

Stiles was feeling increasingly desperate—and just a little bit sore—so he ordered again. This time his only concern was for it to be smaller—much smaller—and he ordered a dildo that was long and thin. It was called Digging Deep and he was hopeful that finally he would be able to hit that elusive spot.

When the toy arrived it was immediately apparent that the reality did not live up to the hype. Try though he might—and he did try—the dildo was just a little too short. No matter how vigorously he pushed and twisted he just couldn't get deep enough. Stiles could feel his climax just out of reach and in his frustration he threw the dildo across the room.

Determined to get a refund for the misnamed dildo, Stiles emailed customer service. He made sure to include a diagram of the male anatomy with thorough notations as to why the dildo they advertised as long was in fact not. His frustration was rewarded with a complimentary replacement.

The new dildo was their best seller from a very popular line. It was a guaranteed winner, certified Alpha product of the year in 2012, but Stiles was skeptical. It looked good and it felt good, but it was missing something. He was finally able to get off, the dildo managing to hit his prostate when he angled it just right, but it was too much work. He wanted a dildo to make his orgasms less work not more.

Stiles had all but given up, resigning himself to a life of aching wrists and mediocre orgasms when he got an email from Goldicocks advertising their new products. There in front of him was the most beautiful dildo he'd ever seen. It wasn't too long or too short. It wasn't overly big or too small. Best of all it curved slightly, just enough that Stiles _knew_ it would easily hit his prostate.

He wasted no time ordering and when it arrived the Boy's Best Friend was even better than he'd hoped. It felt right in his hand, comfortable like it had always been there. The curved shaft hit his prostate almost immediately and made him see stars. Each thrust was better than the last and he finally managed to achieve the orgasm he'd always dreamed of.

And so our hero finally found the dildo that fit him just right and lived happily ever after…

**

Stiles jerked awake. "Fuck."

"Stiles?" Scott asked. He was sitting in the chair next to the bed. Ever since the incident with the Nogitsune, Scott hadn't left Stiles alone. "Are you okay?"

"I just had a dream about dildos and I think I'm in love with you."

Scott blinked at him. "What?"

Stiles scrubbed his hand through his hair and sat up, suddenly uncomfortably aware that his boxers were sticky. Great he'd had a wet dream about Scott. "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, dude."

Scott stared at him a moment longer before smiling. "Good. Cause this whole possession thing made me realize that I'm pretty into you, too."

"Really?" Stiles asked. He was so not used to having his affections returned.

"I wouldn't lie to you," Scott said. He moved over and sat next to Stiles. "I'd _never_ lie to you."

"I know," Stiles whispered. He leaned closer to Scott. "You're my best friend."

Scott closed the distance, pressing their lips together, and for the first time Stiles thought that he might actually get a happily ever after.

* * *

40.

**Warnings:** Somnophilia (sort of)  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

“Isn't your dog adorable!” the old woman cooed. “Would he like a treat?”

Before Stiles could correct the woman to inform her that this was actually a wolf and that he was on a strict diet, she was giving Derek a dog treat, and Derek, greedy as he was, was gobbling it down. Later he would justify to Stiles that it would have been rude to refuse a treat, not to mention draw suspicion. But Stiles knew that Derek secretly liked the taste of dog biscuits—in his wolf form anyway. Then again, Derek liked anchovies in both his forms, so he was generally not to be trusted with culinary matters.

It was only after Derek collapsed into a pile of leaves that Stiles realized, one, they were miles away from civilization, and two, that old woman was most definitely a witch. He should have known. What Stiles had taken for a delighted laugh was clearly a cackle.

The good news was that when Derek collapsed, he transformed back into his human form. Getting Derek unstuck out of wolf form was an experience Stiles hoped to never, ever re-live. The bad news was that Derek was completely naked and comatose.

“Derek?” Stiles kicked him in the side. “Derek this isn’t funny.”

Stiles sighed. He didn’t get cell reception in the woods, and all of his research materials were on his laptop in the Jeep, also miles away.

“Let’s go for a run on the preserve, he said. It’ll help build your stamina, he said,” Stiles muttered as he dragged Derek's heavy body off the path.

It was unlikely anyone would stumble back into the preserve this far, but apparently it was teeming with witches, so one couldn’t be too careful. His intention was to stash Derek’s body and then go retrieve his Rolodex of poisons to find whatever Derek had ingested this time.

Once he got Derek hidden under some low-hanging branches, he started to examine him for any clues that might help narrow down the poison.

The main symptom so far as Stiles could tell was that Derek’s body was starting to stiffen. Then Stiles realized that Derek's dick was also stiffening—not in a body-is-slowly-filling-with-poison type of way, more in a Stiles-I-need-to-fuck-you-right-now type of way.

Stiles never could resist Derek’s dick.

Stiles hesitated. Derek was clearly still breathing, no rashes were appearing on his skin, and he wasn’t bleeding. In fact, he looked like he was resting peacefully.

“As long as we’re here,” Stiles said with a shrug.

He got down, straddled Derek’s stiffened legs, and looked at his very much alive, very erect cock. He looked around to make sure the witch was long gone. With the coast clear, he bent forward and licked from Derek’s balls all the way up to the head of his cock, planting a kiss when he reached the tip.

Then he wrapped his lips around it and went down as far as he could. He licked his way sloppily back up and sucked Derek’s cock back into his mouth. He went slow, repeating the process over and over. Usually Derek got impatient and wouldn’t sit still long enough for Stiles to really take his time, letting him enjoy the taste and the feel. He could spend a whole afternoon with his tongue on Derek, sucking his dick, licking his balls, maybe eating his ass. Basically, he just wanted to devour Derek, and Derek was too fidgety and impatient to let him.

Stiles kept tabs on Derek’s pulse. It was not only still beating, but starting to race. Derek’s dick was responding, too. It was getting harder, and Stiles could feel Derek’s balls tightening, a sure sign that even though the rest of Derek’s body was paralyzed, he could still come.

Then Stiles caught movement out of the corner of his eye and felt a hand gripping his hair.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, pushing Stiles’ head down.

Stiles would have gasped in surprise had his mouth not been filling with come. When Derek was finished, Stiles sat back, sputtering.

“How long have you been awake?”

“The spell broke as soon as you kissed it. True love’s kiss doesn’t specify _where_ the kiss has to be.”

“So you’ve been awake this whole time? You asshole!”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

And so Stiles and the asshole-wolf lived happily ever after.

* * *

41.

**Warnings: Sex, Poisonous Apples, Poisoning**  
 **Pairing: Stiles Stilinsk/Derek Hale**

 

Panting heavily, Stiles arches and groans, sweat pooling at the small of his back.  
  
“Yes, that’s it,” he manages, clutching desperately at the sheets when Derek gets the angle just right. He’s so close, and Derek is relentless when he pushes back in, over and over until Stiles has to close his eyes to keep himself from coming.  
  
“Come on,” Derek coaxes, voice rough, as he plasters his front to Stiles’ back, pressing his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck.  
  
Stiles can feel Derek’s heavy breathing, hear the slapping sounds of skin as their bodies connect again and again.  
  
“Come on,” Derek says again. “Come for me.”  
  
And Stiles does. Just like that. Shuddering like he’s falling apart, his body zeroing in on Derek’s hot breath against his sticky skin and the small groan that pushes past Derek’s lips when he comes.  
  
“Go out on a date with me,” Stiles mumbles a while later face buried in a pillow. He still feels a little out of it, and he’s going to blame that tomorrow. Because _this_ , this is a casual thing, and now he’s just announced that he wants to take things a step further.  
  
Derek’s silence makes him tense, makes his brain race and there’s that unsettling shiver running down his spine. Everything’s ruined. He knows, as the turns his head slightly, glancing over at Derek who’s staring at him. He’s not wearing the expression Stiles expected. There’s no trace of pity, like he feels bad about turning Stiles down. Instead, a corner of his mouth is turned slightly upward, and he’s just everything Stiles wants in his life, with the mess of his hair and dark stubble.  
  
“Yeah,” Derek says.  
  
\--  
  
It’s nothing spectacular. They’ve known each other forever. Fucked for years. Despite that, it’s still weird to see Derek in a white button-up and dark slacks. He looks so goddamn perfect.  
  
“So this,” Stiles points at the apple pie in front of him. “Tastes funny. I bet they didn’t clean the chemicals off the apples before using them. If I get poisoned, you know why.”  
  
Derek snorts, but the way his eyes crinkle at the corners gives him away. Stiles’ insides turns to mush.  
  
Outside his apartment building, three hours later, Derek reaches out for his hand and pulls him closer. Stiles doesn’t know why he thinks of it as a big deal, that he’s about to get his first date-kiss from Derek. He’s had about a thousand kisses from Derek before.  
  
But just as Derek leans in, Stiles only has a second to register that his legs are giving out, and then everything goes black.  
  
\--  
  
The first thing Stiles sees when he opens his eyes is Derek staring back at him. As his vision clears, Stiles notices there are dark circles under Derek’s eyes, and Derek gives him a little bit more space.  
  
“It worked,” Stiles hears him say to someone else.  
  
“What worked?” Stiles tries, but it comes out as a rough, garbled mess. Derek seems to understand anyway.  
  
“You’ve been out for two weeks,” Derek says, like that explains anything.  
  
“You’ve been unconscious,” Scott fills in, stepping into view.  
  
A few years back, Stiles would’ve been terrified by these news. Nowadays, though, it’s like he’s just happy that he didn’t wake up to someone telling him that he’s dead. Instead, he mentally scans his body. He feels sore, but everything seems intact.

Then it hits him.  
“The apples?” When both Scott and Derek nod, he feels like someone, somewhere, is laughing at him. He slowly sits up, blinking away the last of his blurry vision. “So then you cured me with…”  
  
“A kiss,” Derek supplies.  
  
Scott nods, beaming. “Like in the movie.”  
  
When Derek gives him a look – a give-us-some-privacy look – Scott smiles and disappears out the door.  
  
Groaning, Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “Wow, someone must really hate me. I missed out on the end of my date because of some asshole.”  
  
Derek smirks. “I’m sure there’s a ball we could attend, Snow White.”  
  
“That’s Cinderella, but yes, I’d like that. Plus the _Happily Ever After_.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes, but Stiles can still see the playful glint. “I already saved your life, what more do you want?”  
  
“How about a first-date kiss I can actually remember?”  
  
“Let’s see what I can do.”  
  
This time, as Derek presses their lips together, Stiles’ legs don’t give out. However, he’s not surprised to feel his breath taken away.

* * *

42.

**Warnings:** multiple pairings, the fairy dust made them do it.  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles, Scott/Isaac, Lydia/Allison

By the time the fairy dust dissipated, Scott had deep-throated Isaac, Lydia and Allison had made out in the rain, and Derek had fucked Stiles over about ten different surfaces around the house.

Nobody looked at anybody else.

Stiles raised a hand. “While I’m sure you’re all feeling the effects of the traumatic experiences you’ve gone through, let me just say that I may never walk normally again.”

Derek made a sort of whimpering noise into his jacket. He’d been hiding for a while now.

Scott’s eyes were still wide and horrified. “I’m sorry,” he said. Stiles wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Possibly all of them.

The image of Isaac holding Scott’s head, fingers twisted in his hair as he thrust hard and fast into Scott’s mouth was fried onto Stiles’ brain. It should _not_ have been as hot as he’d found it.

“Baby, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Allison assured him, her cheeks still rosy. “We were all just affected by the fairy dust.”

Lydia’s gaze was speculative. “I’m not so sure,” she mused.

Derek finally lifted his head, tips of his ears still bright red. Stiles would have been amused if he wasn’t aching in every part of his body. “What do you mean?” Derek asked, eyebrows looming dangerously.

Stiles still felt Derek’s perfect, amazingly delicious cock pounding into him. His lips were numb and his ass was still sticky with come and on fire. He’d never felt better.

Lydia tapped a finger against her swollen lips. Stiles tried not to remember Allison’s tongue tangling with Lydia’s. It was a totally futile effort. Fucking hot is what it was. “Focus,” Lydia ordered Stiles.

“Astound us with your wisdom, my goddess.” Stiles winced as his muscles twinged. Derek fucked like a werewolf and Stiles was going to feel it for days.

“You’re the moron who made the wish,” Lydia levelled a glare at him. “You understand that this is entirely your fault?”

“She was a pretty lady with red hair!” Stiles protested. “How was I supposed to know what she was up to?”

“Because bad shit happens all the time in Beacon Hills?” Isaac offered. He sat pressed up against Scott.

Stiles wondered why Scott wasn’t all up in Allison’s space. But no, Lydia and Allison were holding hands, sharing the other chair. Derek, despite the jacket and the ears, was a long line of heat against Stiles’ side.

Huh.

“What _exactly_ did you say to her?” Lydia asked.

Stiles frowned, trying to remember. “She asked me if I was happy here.”

“Oh god,” Derek made another small noise that was sort of pathetically adorable. Stiles’ patted his well-muscled thigh. Derek moved a little closer.

“And?” Lydia prompted. “What did you tell her? The words, Stiles.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. Derek’s big palm pushed his hand away, taking up the soothing motion. “I told her that I had the best friends in the world, and that we were all just one big happy family.” He blinked. “Uh.”

“What?” Lydia’s eyes were sharp.

“I may have actually said one big happy fucking family.” Stiles hunched over when five pairs of eyes zoomed in on him. “Oops.”

“Oops?” Derek’s voice was a low roar. “I’ve seen things I never want to remember, Stiles. I fucked you on the hood of my car, Stiles. And you say ‘Oops’?”

“Maybe she thought happy fucking family meant exactly that,” Allison tried to help. Stiles blew her a kiss.

“Well,” Scott’s tone was thoughtful. “I didn’t _not_ enjoy it.” He cleared his throat. “It was actually really, pretty good.” He blushed a little as he sneaked a peek at Isaac, who had gone starry-eyed. Literally.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Allison admitted, squeezing Lydia’s hand. “I mean, if it happened again.”

Derek flinched when Stiles leaned closer. “And you big guy, you down with having all of this all the time?” He waved a hand up and down his own body.

“I hate everything,” Derek told them, and pounced.

It seemed to be the signal they were all waiting for. Scott lunged for Isaac, fingers scrabbling at his jeans. Lydia swung her leg over Allison’s and pressed the wettest kiss Stiles had ever seen onto her mouth.

If Stiles had seen it, that is.

His vision was filled with Derek’s stupid face as he wrapped his big hand around their cocks, and gave them their own version of happily ever after.

* * *

43.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

It wasn't that they had nearly died - they had. It wasn't that Stiles had realized suddenly that maybe his feelings for Derek were more intense than he had previously thought - they were. It was that in the heat of the fight, Derek moments from being Wendigo chow, Stiles realized that he hadn't had enough time yet with him. Not enough conversations and arguments. Not enough late nights and early mornings. Not enough longing stares and irritated glares. Not enough kisses. And, god, not enough sex.

So when they found themselves in Derek's bedroom, skin freshly clean of Wendigo viscera and smelling of Derek's soap, Stiles wasn't surprised that clothes never even made a reappearance. Instead, they blanketed themselves in the darkness of the room, falling back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and desire. Their lips never separated long enough to discuss what they were doing, their bodies automatically falling into the rhythm that came as easy to them as breathing.

Stiles was on his back, head tilted back as Derek mouthed hungrily at his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin, almost certainly leaving a trail of dark marks in his wake. For once, Stiles couldn't be bothered to complain, not when they had nearly died tonight. Instead, he clung to Derek, arms grappling at his back, fingers digging into warm skin as he arched up against Derek, craving every touch Derek gave him. "God... Derek, please," Stiles whimpered, hips rolling up against Derek's, desperately seeking the friction his body craved.

Derek caved and rocked down against Stiles, their cocks brushing together sending a flood of pleasure through Stiles' body, making him cry out with the intensity of it. "Fuck... Der-" he gasped, his words being cut off by Derek's mouth, hot and insistent on his own.

The kiss was filthy and hungry and Stiles felt as if he were drowning in it, in the wet slide of their tongues, the press of Derek's teeth into the soft skin of his bottom lip, the hot breath they shared with the moans and gasps they couldn't hold in. They kissed and writhed, their bodies pressed tightly together, each roll of their hips sending shocks of pleasure through their veins until all semblance of rhythm was lost. They moved against each other, their cocks slick with pre-come, Stiles voice loud in the room, moans and whines echoing off the walls.

Derek tilted his head and buried his face in against Stiles' neck, breathing deep as he moved with a purpose, lips pressing below Stiles' ear. He was murmuring something against Stiles' skin as his hips began to stutter and it was only just before Stiles was coming that he was able to string together the syllables in his mind, his body arching up against Derek's, fingernails digging into his back as he cried out Derek's name. Derek's body tensed and he followed just moments later with a strangled groan, his come hot and sticky, mixing with Stiles' on his stomach.

It took a long time for them to come down, Derek a heavy weight on top of Stiles, his face still buried in against his neck. Stiles held onto him, not wanting to let go and lose that contact. Derek was whispering into his ear again and Stiles smiled as he recognized the same words from before, a rough but sincere, "Marry me?"

Stiles closed his eyes and let out a soft breath, tilting his head to leave a kiss to Derek's temple. "Yes," he said, the simplicity of the word hiding just how huge a moment this was.

Derek made a sound in his throat, something between a laugh and a sob and he was shifting up and kissing Stiles, lips moving over Stiles' jaw until he found his mouth, kissing him hard and deep, whispering when he finally pulled back to breath. "I promise it'll be good, we'll be good."

Stiles grinned, eyes sparkling with joy. "What, we'll live happily ever after?"

Derek leaned in to kiss Stiles once more, quick and soft. "Something like that."

* * *

44.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Chris/Derek

Derek Hale is fifteen when his life changes forever.

His paws skid in damp earth at the furthest reaches of Hale land, mouth closing around the wriggling sprite he's been chasing. He toys with it and shakes his muzzle this way and that as the creature struggles to break free.

The sprite begs for mercy, pledging to make Derek's dreams come true if only Derek will spare her life.

Intrigued, Derek releases the sprite from his jaws, holds her underfoot and shifts to human form.

She thanks Derek profusely for his kindness, then waves her little hand, conjuring a coin and offering it to Derek. She instructs him to rub his thumb across the face three times prior to making his wish, then tells Derek to wish wisely, for the coin shall only work thrice.

Derek tosses the coin in his palm, testing its heft and considering the possibilities. He first thinks of peace between Hunters and Werewolves, then limitless riches and popularity. But young Derek has a large family and very little of his own. He remembers the way Paige smiled at him, the feeling of her lips against his, and wishes for the courage to fall in love again.

The sprite bows deeply and says it will be so. Then, with one final flourish, she vanishes into thin air.

The very next day, the principal introduces Derek's class to the new substitute teacher. She catches Derek's eye and gives him a sharp, seductive smile. He is immediately smitten.

Alas, this part of the story did not have a happy ending, but Derek perseveres. He secrets the coin away, then makes a new life for himself in Beacon Hills.

The next few years are fraught with danger, but Derek also finds friendships in unexpected places. He begins to realize that some families are made, not born. So when one of their own is in peril, Derek retrieves the coin from its hiding place.

He doesn't wish to save himself or be the hero of the story; he learned the cruel price of selfish desires long ago. Instead he uses his second wish to give his wolf brother the strength to save them all.

It's during the halcyon days that follow that Derek finds something quite remarkable with a man who was once his sworn enemy. What began as the unlikeliest of friendships becomes a love as passionate as it is pure.

When Derek returns from full moon runs with the pack, mud caked under his nails and bits of leaves and twigs in his hair, Chris is there to greet him with a tired eyes and a soft smile. A firm hand encircles Derek's wrist as Chris leads him into their home.

They have a ritual of their own now, and after stripping Derek of his filthy clothes, Chris ushers him under into the shower, washing away dried blood from already healed scratches and scrubbing Derek's skin until it's fresh and clean.

They speak quietly as Chris attends to Derek's body, catching each other up on the night's events. Soon hands begin to wander and soft kisses become not-so-gentle bites, and words fade to sighs and quiet moans.

Derek instinctively widens his stance when Chris drops to his knees behind him. Chris has always taken great pleasure in rimming Derek, but is most possessive after full moons. He takes his time, licking Derek open until his muscles relax, spreading him wide and working his tongue and fingers in as deep as they can go. Derek's skin feels raw from the roughness of Chris' beard; he's brought to the brink over and over while Chris reclaims what is his after a long night apart.

It's only after Derek is shaking through his first orgasm, legs unsteady, that Chris stands and leads him to their bedroom, where he starts worshipping Derek body all over again. Derek can barely do more than raise his hips when Chris pushes inside him, deep and hard and slow, over and over, until they both find release.

After, Derek is too exhausted to move. He drifts off with Chris' come still deep within him and the solid line of Chris' body draped over his, making him feel safe and whole.

Sometimes Derek thinks of the coin, still infused with a third of its power and buried years ago under the foundation of their little house. But each morning he wakes wrapped tight in Chris' warm embrace, he finds he has nothing left to wish for.

* * *

45.

**Warnings: Implied Bestiality?**  
 **Pairing: Peter Hale/Lydia Martin, mentioned Jackson Whittemore/Lydia Martin**

Once upon a time, it begins with a dream, as it does for everyone in the village. No one dreams in Beacon, until the Hunt.

Lydia wakes one morning with sweat beading her forehead, gasping, her sex aching in arousal, and her hands reaching for _something, someone_ but there only stands the village Shaman. The hag’s face is etched deep in wrinkles and she smiles at Lydia.

“It is time, _Maighdean_.”

_No._

 

Lydia sits across the fire from the Shaman. She stares at the bones circling the Shaman, willing them to disappear. The old hands hover over each long bone. Femurs.

“Think back _Maighdean_ ,” the hag says. “Two legs, four? Hair, feathers?” As she talks she takes bones away from the group; she’s narrowing down, Lydia realises. The Shaman is searching her dream.

Creating a mental block is like snapping her fingers, and the Shaman reels back in surprise. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“You don’t want to find them,” the Shaman states.

“I promised myself to the Whittemore Clan,” Lydia replies coldly. “I wasn’t expecting to dream.”

“ _Maighdean_ ,” the hag chides softly, voice sing-songing. “No one expects anything.” Lydia keeps her mouth shut, biting her lip so she doesn’t say anything venomous.

“Now,” the Shaman prompts. “What are they?”

Lydia replies, “A wolf.” She was trying to lie, to find an exit, but as soon as she says it she knows it to be true. It leaves her tilted.

The Shaman becomes angry. “If you’re not going to take the Hunt seriously you may as well leave. There are no wolves on the Isles.”

“It was a wolf,” she says as she stands. Lydia moves around the fire to the discarded pile of bones and takes the oldest bone in her hand. After a moment, she tosses it in the fire and walks out of the hut without looking back.

The fire turns blue.

 

She leaves on horse without saying goodbye to her friends and once-betrothed, but she notices the falcon following her for miles. Lydia halts her horse. The falcon lands and it shifts, growing and walking forward on two human legs, naked.

“Never go without saying goodbye,” Allison says, reaching up to hug her.

“I’m scared,” she admits.

Allison smiles. “So was Scott.” Lydia can believe that.

“Were you?”

“Of course,” she says. “We’re all scared. We’re all alone until we dream.”

 

 

Day sixteen and Lydia wonders if she’s headed in the wrong direction. The dreams have gotten more vivid, though, and she wakes each morning with ghosts on her skin, between her legs, nipples hard and aching for touch. All Lydia needs is to thrust two fingers in her, rub her swollen clit fast, and let her hips rock into the motion to find relief.

She lies on her mat and stares at the treetops, listening to the river along side her. It tells her she needs to continue; they’re trying to find her, too.

 

_Strong hands pin hers above her head. She arches into the body above, feels the flat plains of his chest, the hair there tickling her breasts. They’re gasping, rocking together for completion. His cock is hot, sliding wetly against her sex, against her clit where she wants it most._

_His mouth brushes her ear. “I feel you. You’re so close.”_

_Lydia nods, because she is- she’s on the edge, she wants to come_ so bad _by his cock, his hands, anything, as long as she’s finally coming in her dreams with him. She wants him. She doesn’t care if its the loneliness talking, she_ wants.

_“Its not,” he rasps. She feels stubble of beard on her cheek as he speaks. “I want you. You were made for me. I was made for you. We_ belong _, sweetheart. You’re the fire that lit my spark, as much as I lit yours.”_

_“Please,” Lydia cries. “I want to come...”_

_“You’re so close. Almost, sweetheart. Almost.”_

 

He’s chasing her. She swivels in her saddle, aiming with her bow. Lydia is not an archer, and she misses without even trying. He knows it. The Hunt isn’t meant to be bloody.

She dismounts afterwhile, runs along the river, and too soon she hears the four-count tempo running close behind her, gaining.

“You’re not,” Lydia pants, “fucking me...as a wolf!”

An arm wraps around her waist, and the pair of them go tumbling down; he’s shields her from the rough ground. Lydia looks up at him for the first time, and Peter smiles.

* * *

46.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
“And they lived happily ever after,” Stiles whispered, as he folded his mother’s old, leather bound book of fairytales closed. He smiled down at the now sleeping form of his daughter, snuggled underneath her pink cammo comforter, and he couldn’t resist the impulse to lean down to place a gentle kiss to her forehead. Just like his mother had done so many years ago for him.

When he finally stood up and turned toward the door, he wasn’t surprised to find Derek casually leaning against the doorframe, smiling softly at them.

“We really need to talk to _Pop Pop_ about the whole giving-our-daughter-sugar-in-the-afternoon, thing,” Stiles whispered tiredly.

“Mmhmm,” Derek agreed, both of them already knowing that neither of them would dare say a damn word. “She wore you out?”

Stiles snorted, and leaned against Derek’s side, content to let him guide them both down the hallway toward their bedroom. “Who knew werewolf cubs would be so much work?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not a werewolf thing.”

“That’s what my dad said too,” Stiles said sullenly, pouting up at Derek who leaned forward to kiss it off of him. Stiles melted into it immediately, closing his eyes and letting Derek press him back against the wall, his weariness melting away with each swipe of Derek’s tongue.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed. Derek was strong and sturdy in front of him, and Stiles _wanted_ damnit; it felt like weeks since the last time they’d had sex.

Derek pulled away a moment later, moving to kneel in front of him, his hands skimming Stiles’ sweat pants down his legs as he went. They took a moment for Stiles to step out of them before they continued, Stiles laughing softly as his feet got tangled. They’d long moved past the days of frantic groping, and neither of them wanted to put Stiles’ gracelessness to the test by not removing the hazard of tangled clothing, not when he was already bone tired and barely able to accomplish the feat as it was.

“Boner killer,” Stiles muttered, finally kicking free of his sweats, and despite the clear evidence that it wasn’t true.

“Practical,” Derek corrected, sliding his hands up to cup the jut of Stiles’ hipbones, pressing him more solidly against the wall. Before Stiles could say anything in response, Derek swooped forward and took him into his mouth.

“Shit!” Stiles threw his head back, and his hands slid blindly through the soft, slightly greying strands of Derek’s hair. Because damn. Even after years of being together, this never wasn’t amazing between them. Hell, if anything it only got better, both of them so familiar with each other’s bodies, and all the things that drove each other crazy.

Derek’s mouth was hot, the suction perfect for pulling Stiles thoroughly out of parent mode and into the moment. He bobbed his head slowly, taking Stiles deep into his throat where he paused for a moment, before pulling back to repeat the process.

It wasn’t long before Stiles was a panting mess, electric shocks of pleasure coursing through his veins and threatening to make his legs actually give out, regardless of Derek’s support.

“Ok, Stop!” Stiles finally pleaded.

Derek smirked up at him, and Stiles reached down to cup his face, pleased when the smirk faded to something softer and just for him. “Ready for bed?” Derek asked, rising to his feet.

“Soooo ready.”  
They fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs, both of them moving languidly against each other. Despite how close Derek had already brought him to the edge, neither of them felt particularly like hurrying, although the time, and their exhaustion, meant that they weren’t particularly interested in drawing things out for too much longer either.

It was still good though, Derek gentle as he opened Stiles up, working him open with fingers slick with lube, from a bottle that was nearly empty even though they hadn’t actually fucked like this in weeks.

“Oh my god yes!” Stiles groaned, when Derek finally slid inside of him. It was good, so fucking good, and it barely took anything at all before they were both coming, shuddering against each other, and then holding each other close when it was over.

They basked in the afterglow for a few minutes, enjoying the rare moment of post coital bliss.

“And we lived happily ever after,” Stiles whispered giddily into Derek’s shoulder, echoing the ending he’d read half a dozen times already that night.

“I can live with that.”

* * *

47.

**Warnings:** N/A  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
"What are you doing?"  
Stiles narrows his eyes and continues scribbling into his notebook. "Dylan wants to know what Steve’s doing..." He trails off, biting the end of his pen as he squints down at the words.  
"Dylan?" Derek asks, eyebrows drawn into a thick line of 'fuck you' on his face.  
Stiles shrugs. "Yeah. Names are changed to protect the innocent and all that shit."  
Derek shakes his head and turns his attention back to the road in front of them. "So many questions," he murmurs to the windshield.  
"Well," Stiles begins, turning in the passenger seat to face Derek fully, "since you're curious: I'm thinking of writing a children's book. The lighter side of fairytale monsters, y'know? _Things That Go Derp in the Night._ Dylan—that's you—will be the main character. A werewolf who's really more like an old lady's lapdog and can't keep his shit together to save his life. Literally."  
Derek's grip tightens on the steering wheel, jaw clenching in a way that Stiles knows means trouble.  
After a short beat of silence, Derek surprises him, though. "You're not naming my character Dylan."  
Stiles has gone back to chewing his pen, studying the notes on his page and visualizing Dylan dropping a toaster into the tub in an ill advised attempt to smoosh together morning tasks and shorten the time it takes to get ready for school. "What's wrong with Dylan? I think it's a great name. Plus, it's close to Derek and easy to remember."  
"It’s a ridiculous name."  
"It's a _hero's_ name, Derek. I'm writing you as a _hero_." After the toaster thing, of course.  
"Actually," Derek replies, that smug tone Stiles knows all too well back in full force, "it's a Welsh name that means 'great flow.' You'd be naming a character after an extreme menstrual cycle."  
"You're an asshole," Stiles says. "And I'm keeping it. It's a great name."  
"Give me one adult whose name is Dylan."  
"Bob Dylan," Stiles fires back.  
"Bob Dylan is a tool. Try again."  
"Dylan...Sanders?" Stiles cringes.  
"Seriously? As in Charlie's Angel?"  
"Okay, in my defense, you weren't actually supposed to know that one." Stiles tosses his pen and notebook to the floorboard, earning a sideways glare from Derek. "Roadtrips are exhausting."  
"Sorry," Derek says sardonically. "Should I pull over so _you_ can rest?"  
"Hey, I offered to drive while you die all over the passenger seat."

Derek glances down at his chest. The bleeding has stopped, at least. Once Stiles dug the bullet out, the wound was able to heal. His tattered shirt is covered in blood, though.  
"Even injured, my reflexes are better. And it's _my_ car."  
Stiles groans, slumping in his seat. "Unappreciative."  
He fiddles with the stereo, settling on a scratchy rock station that's playing Tesla.  
Derek's fingers curl around Stiles' as they linger on the dial. He tugs his hand away from the stereo, turning down the volume just as they're being told _do this, don't do that._ When Derek doesn't immediately push Stiles' arm back to the passenger side of the car, Stiles chances a glance over at him.  
Derek's eyes are locked on the road ahead. "Thank you," he says eventually, thumb rubbing absently across Stiles’ warm skin.  
Stiles swallows, gaze lingering on the shifting tendons in Derek's arm.  
"Uh...you're welcome?"  
"I mean it." Derek looks over at Stiles now. "I don't really have much of a pack left—" Stiles tries to interrupt, to tell Derek that he _does_ have a pack, even if it isn't quite the same as the one he built for himself, but Derek squeezes Stiles' hand in warning. "Not a lot of people I can count on anymore. If it wasn't for your stubbornness and perseverance, I'd be—"  
"Yeah," Stiles does cut him off then, "maybe. Or maybe Chris would've pulled his head out if his ass and come to save you himself."  
~  
Later, when they find some reprieve, Stiles will remember to finish his story. When he’s not blinded by pleasure at Derek’s hands, breathless from thick, white-hot _need_ firing through him, he’ll consider it. He won’t be able to ignore that small sense of pride, the power that radiates from within, serving to remind him that he really is an integral part of it all. He'll continue to make light of the situations they fall into, and he'll keep doing his part to dig his friends out of trouble. Stiles thinks maybe that's not such a terrible Happily Ever After.

* * *

48.

**Warnings:** None (Stiles is 18 here.)  
 **Pairing:** Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski

“Why the wrist?”

Stiles blurts the question out before he can stop himself. It’s been bother him for too long. He’s got just enough alcohol in his system to have a decent buzz going and not enough to make him forget the question on his mind.

Peter chokes on the sip of alcohol he’s taken. Stiles would be proud if he weren’t so sincerely invested in the answer. He watches as Peter turns to look at him, and he pushes himself up to get a better view of Peter’s face.

“What?” Peter asks, happy to play dumb.

“Everyone else that was bitten was bitten on their side. Even Scott. You offered to bite me on the wrist.”

“Convenience.”

“The internet says otherwise.”

Peter curses inwardly.

“It says-”

“I know what it says, Stiles.”

“So...?” Stiles falters slightly. Maybe he hasn’t had enough alcohol yet.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Wait. Yes, like, it’s true, or that that’s a thing?”

“Stiles,” Peter says shortly. What did he do to deserve a hyperactive eighteen year-old for a mate? A hyperactive eighteen year-old mate that’s too smart for his own good.

Stiles cocks his head slightly and watches Peter. He expects something more solid than that.

Peter doesn’t think about it. That’s what got him into this whole mess in the first place. He hadn’t been thinking when he offered Stiles the bite. He had been listening to his wolf, which is what he does when he leans down to press a small kiss against Stiles’ lips.

“Understand?”

“Not quite,” Stiles answers after he looks up at him with a stupid grin.

Peter thinks about drowning the boy. He really does. It might make his life easier. Instead, he kisses him again. He feels Stiles’ fingers tangle in his hair and Stiles’ other hand tugging at his shirt, trying to pull him down.

Stiles is warm underneath him. He lowers Stiles to the ground gently, and he lets himself have what he never thought he would. Stiles is so warm.

Stiles pulls him closer. His hands become preoccupied with Peter’s hair and shirt. Peter gives the boy one more look up and down before closing his eyes and letting go of the control.

The kiss is exactly what he thought it would be. Messy, abrasive, wholly Stiles. It’s intoxicating and infuriating. Stiles squirms and moans against him. He only has one hand on Peter now. Peter pushes himself up and braces himself on one arm; he opens his mouth to ask what Stiles is doing with his hand in his pocket when the kid yanks out a condom and a packet of lube. Stiles grins at him in a way that tells Peter this is as planned as it seems.

Peter closes his eyes and drops himself back down. “Stiles,” he moans against the kid’s neck.

Stiles’ hands do the dirty work, pushing his pants out of the way and rolling the condom on him. Peter reaches down for the lube, only to find Stiles two fingers deep in himself. He groans and rolls his hips down against Stiles’ hip.

Stiles pulls him in when he’s done, wiping his wet fingers on the back of Peter’s shirt (the little shit), and drags him closer. Peter fumbles for a second before lining up with Stiles’ entrance and pushing inside. “God, Stiles,” he grunts and grinds his teeth together to keep from saying everything he wants to say. Everything about how he never thought he would have this happy ending, this boy beneath him, light of his life, fire of his loins.

The heat around him is unbelievable. Stiles feels so good he almost doesn’t hear Stiles speak. He almost doesn’t hear the butchered _I love you_ that comes out. Peter chokes and goes still as he comes inside of Stiles. He drapes himself over Stiles, surprisingly worn out.

He comes back to focus with the sound of Stiles’ laughter. He hoists himself halfway up with his weight set on his elbows. Stiles is finishing himself, arm trembling from the exertion. He comes with this blissful look on his face. Peter can’t look away.

Peter leans down to kiss the stupid grin that follows. He whispers against his lips, unable to help the slightly possessive tone that mixes with the happiness.

_Mate._

* * *

49.

 

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

“What’s wrong with him?” Stiles asked as Scott and Peter carried Derek into his apartment. They lowered him onto his couch and his eyes stay closed. Kira and Lydia were close behind them.

“A hag.” Peter spat as he tore off what was left of Derek’s shirt and started pressing it to the still bleeding cuts under his ribs. Hags claws were sharper than even a werewolves, it looked like Derek had gotten in its range.

Stiles was already reaching for the first aid kit he kept in the hall closet “why isn't he healing?” Scott slumped against the wall, looking drained and Stiles squeeze his arm with his free hand before passing the kit to Peter. Peter made quick work of the bandages and Scott rubbed at a shallow cut on his neck, unlike Derek’s his was healing.

Lydia gave him a look and Stiles flailed as realization hit him “Dude, a sleeping spell, really?” Stiles turned from Lydia to Peter. Derek was sprawled out on his couch, unconscious and bleeding from claw marks on his chest.

Peter rolled his eyes “Of course the cure must be True Love’s Kiss.” He looked at Scott and Kira in disdain. Both had the decency to blush.

“I was just happy he wasn’t dead.” Kira shrugged.

“She kissed me.” Scott smiled at her awkwardly their voices overlapping.

“The kiss has to come from someone who loves the person.” Lydia interjected looking pointedly at Peter.

He backed away from Derek, holding up his hands. “Sorry, I don't really do feelings at the moment.”

Derek was sweating now, red seeping through the bandages on his chest and his face growing paler. His eyelashes laid dark against his cheeks and his breathing remained steady. Stiles swallowed gripping a hand at his fist before making a decision, it was embarrassing and something he’d been wanting to avoid for well _ever_.

Before anyone could say anything he kneeled down beside Derek and took a deep breath, hand curving around his cheek. “This better work,” he murmured before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Derek’s. Derek’s lips were dry, almost chapped as Stiles kissed him and he couldn't hear anyone over the sound of roaring in his ears.

He pulled back, face flushed and heart beating wildly and watched with bated breath as Derek’s eye lashes twitched. Relief washed over him and he felt weak as Derek’s eyes started to open. With it came the realization of what he’d revealed and Stiles could practically feel the eyes on him.

Before Derek could come fully awake Stiles threw his body back, away from him, and rushed out of the apartment before anyone could stop him.

 

+++++

He’d left his keys on the hook in his house so he’d had to walk to his dad’s house and use the spare under the mat to get in. His dad was currently on a vacation with Melissa for the next week so the house was thankfully empty.

Stiles had collapsed on the pillow in what was still is room and had tried to bury his head as far under the blankets as he could.

That’s why he didn’t hear his window open and had only dragged himself out of his little fort when he heard someone clear their throat.

Derek was looking at him in a way that made it obvious someone (probably Peter) had filled him in on everything that had happened and Stiles considered for a moment diving back under his blanket before he blurted out “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything!”

Derek still hadn’t replaced his ruined t-shirt and at least the wounds had healed, leaving behind pink lines that seemed to still be fading.

“You should have.” Derek’s voice was soft and he moved towards the bed, before Stiles could retreat he was kissing him. Stiles surged towards him, desperate as he kissed back. His hands moved over Derek’s skin and Derek was already tugging his shirt off, herding him back against the bed until his body covered Stiles.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles agreed mouthing at Derek’s neck as Derek pushed down his pants “I really should have.” He had never dreamed this would be the reaction he’d get.

Derek smiled against his lips before moving down, hand gripping Stiles cock. “After, we’re going to talk.” Derek promised before leaning down, mouth opening around him and Stiles threw back his head and bit back a scream.

Oh yeah, after they definitely had some talking to do.


	3. Group C: With Warnings and Pairings

50.

**Warnings:** Brief nogitsune references. Even briefer, more obscure Kate reference.  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

_Once upon a time, there was a ragtag pack that defied logic; a human, a banshee, a kitsune, a werewolf, and a hunter. Led by a true alpha, it defeated the impossible._

Now, that pack is fractured. Mourning, lost, stripped raw.

To fix it, Derek starts with the person he identifies with most.

***

Stiles is reluctant to talk about it, to see Derek in the first place, but the sheriff asks Derek for help with some unsolved cases, which gives Derek a solid reason to be at the house. Once Stiles realizes what's going on, his natural curiosity takes over.

It's only once or twice a week, on the sheriff's overnights. It's not explicitly stated Derek's also there to keep Stiles company, but Derek understands. Is even grateful to be of use twice over.

"I know you're here to baby-sit me," Stiles says, his school books spread out in front of him. "The only reason you're still here is because I'm okay with it."

Derek lets him believe that.

***

Stiles is fine until he isn't, and Derek has to replay the conversation to see what button he pushed. It's not always the same thing, not always related to Stiles' life or the nogitsune. Derek tries to let Stiles vent, but it bothers Derek sometimes. Enough for him interrupt.

"It's not always going to be like this."

Stiles stops mid-word. "How would you know?"

"I know how it feels. Not being able to look yourself in the mirror, to trust your instincts." Derek lowers his eyes. "Hiding away doesn't help. It only widens the divide, making it seem more and more impossible to fix."

"You're not exactly the poster boy for self-care."

"I'm not the one holed up in my bedroom. Avoiding all the people I love, who care about me."

Stiles shoves up from his chair. "That's because nobody DOES care about you."

"Be a dick all you want, Stiles. It doesn't change the fact that I know what that guilt's like. It'll eat you alive if you let it."

"Why do you CARE?"

Derek shrugs. "You saved my life. Maybe it's time I do the same."

***

Derek waits a week and comes bearing dinner from Dinah's. Stiles accepts by way of a werewolf movie retrospective.

It could've gone worse.

***

The fight reinforces what was almost a friendship, strengthening it with fire once Derek proves he won't take Stiles' shit, but won't abandon him either. Stiles comes down more often, is less combative when Derek doesn't agree with Stiles' theories, and smiles occasionally.

Derek might've worried about it, before, trying to memorize the curve of Stiles' mouth. By the time Derek catches himself, it's too little, too late.

***

Case file nights turn into an hour of homework, then a pop culture education. Stiles makes it his mission to fill in the gaps, when Derek and Laura were too busy running to indulge in movies.

It feels natural, in the light of the television, for Stiles to lean in, for Derek to look over, for their mouths to meet. It's summer and Stiles is in a threadbare t-shirt, an even flimsier pair of sweats, and Derek wants.

***

"I'm fairly sure this isn't why your dad asked for my help."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Because that worked so well before?"

"Shut up and move your goddamn hips, would'ja?"

Derek flashes a grin and rolls them over, reveling in Stiles' wide eyes. He recovers quick enough to take control, his hips moving ragged and unsure, pressing down nowhere near where Derek needs it, until he nudges Stiles with a knee. Then, _then_ …it's still stuttered and inelegant, their bellies sticking together where their shirts rode up, but it's Stiles' breath in his ear, his face rasping against Derek's beard, Stiles' gutted moans and it's _so_ , so good.

Stiles doesn't last long, not that Derek expected him too. Still, he holds Stiles' hips close and ruts up into him, rocking Stiles through his orgasm until Derek's creeps up on him.

Stiles is a breathless mess, after, sprawled over Derek's body. He moans as Derek tries to move him, but goes with the motion, until he startles out of his haze and jerks upright, clipping Derek's chin.

"I didn't get to see your dick," he groans. His palm settles on Derek's crotch, over the wet spot.

"We've got time," Derek says.

Stiles' face brightens. "Yeah?"

Derek nods. "Yeah."

* * *

51.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Sheriff Stilinski/Derek Hale

Once upon a time there was a sheriff. He was a great sheriff, beloved by the people of--

No, wait. His occupation was important, but there was more to him than that.

Once upon a time there was a _father_.

As fathers do, even if only in stories, on the day his son left to make his own way in the world they took a stroll together in the local forest preserve. It was a wild place, but the sheriff and his son had nothing to fear there.

“Study hard, and write often,” the father said, because his son was going a long way from home, answering the call of his magic. “I'm going to miss you.”

“I'll be back before you know it,” his son assured him, and he rested a hand on his father's shoulder. “Promise me you'll try to get out, have a social life. You being alone is the only thing I'm worried about.”

“I promise,” the father said, and he squeezed his son tightly.

All around them, unseen by both, lights sparkled and danced among the trees, and the leaves whispered _promise, promise, promise_.

 

In those very same woods there was a cabin, and in the cabin lived a wolf. A wolf-man, to be more accurate.

He wasn't much like the wolves in storybooks, and he wasn't much like other men either. The son had thought him a monster at one time, but he had been young and foolish. He was older now, by a whole two years, and he knew for himself the anger that grief could bring. And the wolf had mellowed, though he was still too serious about – well, everything, if you asked the son in this story his opinion (which very few ever did).

Of course, this did not stop the son from meddling in the wolf-man's life, especially when he was going so far away for so long.

“My father is going to offer you a job,” the son said, and the wolf-man frowned, as he usually did when the sheriff's son was being especially brilliant. “I want you to promise you'll take it. You need something to do that isn't moping around here all day long.”

“I don't mope,” the wolf-man said, though the untidy piles of books and unwashed dishes suggested otherwise. “And I don't think I'm cut out to be a deputy, do you?”

“I think you can be anything you want,” the sheriff's son said. “You could look after this town like your family always did. Just in a different way.”

The wolf-man was silent for a moment, but then he nodded.

“I want to hear you say it,” the sheriff's son said, and when he did, the forest outside once more echoed _promise, promise, promise_ , too faintly for even the wolf-man to hear.

 

Five long years passed, and it was time for the sheriff's son to return home.

First he stopped by the Sheriff's office.

“Sorry kid, he took the day off,” one of the deputies said, as if it wasn't even a surprising occurrence, and the sheriff's son left, a spring in his step at the thought of the change this must indicate in his father.

The forest preserve was on his way home to his father's house, so next he called in to see the wolf-man. But the cabin was more run down than ever, windows too grimy to see through.

When he reached his father's house there was no response, so he let himself in. It was familiar and yet--

There were two cups on the breakfast table, left in a hurry. There were new bookcases, home made but perfect, with rows of books he was sure he had seen before, somewhere.

In the bedroom there were two dents in the pillows, two pairs of very different shoes jumbled together in a corner. And when he touched the bedpost--

_sweat glistened, breathing heavy, head thrown back_

“Fuck me, do it, oh god.”

fingers wrapped around cocks, sliding, coming, coming, coming

“Give it me, there, yes, that's--”

– for once he wished his magic wasn't _quite_ so powerful.

“I kept my promise, son,” his father said, when he came in and saw how his son was blushing.

“So did I,” the wolf-man added, and instead of a frown, he had a smile that looked almost at home on his face.

And thanks to judicious use of soundproofing charms, they all lived happily ever after.

* * *

52.

Warnings: none that I'm aware of  
Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Stiles Stilinski kept his sword in its scabbard as he walked through the cave. Light was scarce, with only a single torch to light his way. With haste he made his way through the twists and turns of the carved rock, the distant sound of growling growing louder with each step. Though his heart beat could be felt beating against his own chest, Stiles showed no signs of being afraid. Being a Knight, he knew no fear. Besides, he wasn’t in the cave to vanquish a foe. He was there for an entirely different reason altogether.

As Stiles rounded another turn, he grinned when a massive dragon came into view. It towered over him, it’s nostrils smoking in warning that fire would come shortly afterward if provoked.

“It’s me,” Stiles called out, his voice echoing through the cavern. The dragon snorted, its forked tongue sticking out as it turned from him, getting to its feet and spreading it’s wings. It roared, it’s mouth open wide revealing sharp teeth, shaking the small rocks at Stiles’ feet. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Fire lit the room as it circled him, it’s multicolored eyes glinting against the flames.

Stiles watched the dragon transform before his eyes, into an almost human form. With only horns, pointed ears, wings, and a smattering of scales across his cheekbones signified that the man before him was, in fact, not completely human. Stiles stepped forward, placing his torch into a barren fire pit, letting it catch.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” he said.

“I promised I would,” Stiles told Derek. “I told you I would protect you.” He had been sent to the mountains to kill Derek, but found that he couldn’t do it, not when he saw Derek in his humanoid form.

“I don’t need protection,” Derek said, his nostrils smoking once more. He was naked, his body chiseled, as if cut from fine stone or marble. Derek had wanted Stiles to remain with him, but Stiles couldn’t. He had a duty to his King, but he promised to return to him once a month.

Stiles smiled at him as he reached out, placing a hand on Derek’s cheek.

“You don’t, but I don’t know of any other way to show you how I feel.” Derek leaned towards Stiles’ touch, his eyes closing. Stiles leaned forward capturing Derek’s lips with his own. Propriety be damned, he couldn’t keep away from Derek. The kiss deepened as Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, his hands roaming Stiles’ body, undoing his belt, dropping his scabbard to the ground at Stiles’ feet. Derek undressed Stiles with haste, his pupils blown as he found Stiles’ mouth once more when he was through. Stiles found himself on the ground, with Derek hovering over him, spreading Stiles’ legs wide with his knees, his heavy cock sliding against Stiles’ smearing precome across his stomach. Derek rocked his hips against Stiles, licking up his neck. Stiles’ back arched against him, his hands gripping tight to Derek’s waist as he panted beneath him.

“I brought oil,” Stiles managed to say between moans as Derek’s fingers pressed against his hole, begging for entrance. Stiles spread his legs further apart as he reached for his satchel. Derek nipped at his skin, sucking and marking him as Stiles opened the vial. “Dip your fingers in this.”  
Derek growled, angry that he had to stop for a moment, but as soon as his fingers were slick with the oil, he pressed one inwards, his mouth attaching to Stiles’ neck once more with a happy moan. Stiles gasped at the intrusion as he moved against Derek’s finger.

“I’m ready.”

Stiles moaned as Derek entered him. Bigger than a few fingers in girth, the stretch left Stiles without breath. Derek stilled within him, forcing Stiles to grab onto his ass in order to get Derek to move. Derek snapped out of whatever trance he had been in, rolling his hips as he fucked into Stiles. They moved against each other, Stiles’ legs hooked around Derek’s thighs, holding him close. Their lips crashed together, both of them moaning, open mouthed. Stiles wrapped a hand around his cock, jacking himself off until he came with a shuddering breath. Derek’s pace quickened until he stilled within him, coming. Panting for breath, the two of them clung together in the dirt.

“Stay,” Derek asked as he nosed at Stiles’ cheek. Stiles licked his lips, nodding his head.

“I’ll stay.”

* * *

53.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Sheriff/Melissa

Scott’s wedding was a lively affair. Everyone was well into their cups by ten, and the sheriff spared a thought for the bill that would be delivered the next day for the open bar. Not that he was going to be the one paying for it, but still. Werewolves? Definitely not strangers to knocking a few back. The sheriff stuck to club soda - after all, this wasn’t Stiles’ wedding (Yet. Thank god.) - and he smiled as he watched his idiot son dance like a Disco reject next to Lydia Whittemore, who appeared to tolerate him with a patience that only several glasses of pinot could provide.

He scanned the room and stopped when his eyes fell on Melissa McCall, head thrown back with laughter. His throat tightened as he took in her wild curls escaping from her chignon and the delicate slope of her neck. The tiny white lights in the room made the sequins on her dress shine like diamonds and she looked bioluminescent.

The sheriff couldn’t breath.

The room faded away and his worldview shifted with the realization that he _loved_ that slip of a woman. Loved her unshakable strength and incredible spirit. Loved her kindness and warmth, and how she filled up every empty crevice inside of him with a brightness that seemed as supernatural as her son.

He wanted to wake up next to her for the rest of his life. Wanted to feel her soft, warm curves molded against him. Wanted to hear the way she quietly snuffled in her sleep forever. He wanted to kiss her neck and palm her stomach and pull her close.

He suddenly realized that for the last five years he hadn’t been able to see or smell an apricot without thinking of the lotion she always wore or see a lilac without knowing that it was her favorite flower. He realized that he knew she liked her coffee black and her eggs scrambled, and that he’d known it for so long that over the years that knowledge had become a part of him.

He realized that she was it for him. _It._ In all the best ways. The ways that matter. The ways that make you glad to be alive, but he’d been so blind and slow. An idiot and a fool, too wrapped up in his dead wife, he wondered if it was too late for them. Aside from an awkward, aborted date shortly before the boys’ high school senior year, she didn’t know. She didn’t know how much she mattered to him, how much he cared.

The sheriff couldn’t breath.

She laughed and spilled joy and filled his world and she didn’t _know_.

He wanted to hear her gasp, feel her shiver, and kiss her for the rest of his life. He wanted to feel her shake as he made love to her and moan as he palmed her breasts. He wanted to covet her. Cherish her. _Marry her_.

Sheriff exhaled a shaky breath and set his club soda down. He was too old, had lost too much, not to do something about his realization; they were both overdue for their Happily Ever After.

He straightened his jacket and rolled his neck, squeezed his fists, took a fortifying breath. He crossed the room to where she stood.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him approach and he realized that maybe she’d known all along and was waiting for him to catch up. Encouraged by her smile, he slid his hand to the small of her back and leaned close, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Melissa, I was wondering if you...”

* * *

54.

**Warnings: Dub-con, bondage**  
 **Pairing: Stiles/Derek**

"Being married to a monster might not be as bad as I expected," Stiles said to himself, surveying the grand palace in front of him.

It was only when he woke in the middle of the night, feeling someone blindfolding him and binding his hands, that he felt afraid.

"You can't look at me," the monster whispered into his ear. "But I'll try to make you happy, I promise."

Stiles was terrified, expecting rough treatment, but instead he felt soft lips meet his own. The monster placed gentle kisses on his neck and shoulders, finding a spot that made him squirm, before trailing down his bare chest. When the monster took off his pants, Stiles wasn't sure any more whether he even wanted the monster to stop - his cock was flushed and hardening, but the monster just hummed and continued his slow exploration of Stiles' body.

The monster caressed him for what felt like hours, whispering praise. Stiles thought he felt rough skin and strange hair, and he felt fangs pressed briefly against his neck as the monster sucked on his skin. He was too turned on for that to even scare him.

"Please," he begged.

"Please what?" the monster replied.

"Stop teasing, please, I want you to." His voice sounded strange and desperate, but this hadn't been what he was expecting.

The monster wrapped a clawed hand carefully - so carefully - around his cock and stroked him until he came, gasping, so hard that he couldn't help but drift afterwards. He felt the splash of the monster's release on his stomach and hips before he felt a damp cloth wiping it away.

"What's your name?" Stiles asked, halfway to sleep.

"Derek," the monster - Derek - replied, before Stiles lost consciousness entirely.

He woke unbound and unblindfolded, and Derek was nowhere to be seen.

That became the pattern of Stiles' life. During the day he wandered the grounds of the palace, and at night he woke, bound and blind, to Derek's company.

Not all nights were the same. Some nights were filled with sex - better than Stiles could have possibly imagined - Derek sucking him until he came, Derek propping up Stiles' head and pushing his cock into his mouth, Derek pushing into him, finally, after using his fingers for so long that the blindfold was wet with Stiles' tears and his wrists burned from Stiles having strained against his binding, desperate, desperate to touch Derek.

Other nights they spoke. Stiles told Derek about his father and life before. Derek never revealed any of his secrets, but he was good company. Stiles found himself sleeping later into the morning so he could spend more time with Derek in the nights.

One night, as Derek lay curled up against his side, Stiles asked him why this was how they lived.

"I can't tell you," he said. "I'm sorry." Stiles didn't ask him again.

Stiles thought that Derek was afraid of him knowing what he really looked like, that Stiles wouldn't think Derek's devotion and tenderness and passion was enough to overcome his monstrosity.

So one night he put a knife under his pillow before falling asleep. While Derek was distracted by Stiles' cock down his throat, Stiles cut through the bindings. He ripped off his blindfold and sat up, expecting to see a beast, only to behold the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

"Stiles," Derek said, a stricken look on his handsome face. "Why did you do that? Were you so unhappy with me?"

"Of course not, I love you, I'd love you however you looked. I want to stay with you." He reached forward to touch Derek, but Derek leaned away.  
"You can't. Now that you've seen me -"

Before Stiles' eyes, Derek's shape changed, moulding into that of a huge wolf. The wolf gazed sadly at him with Derek's eyes before jumping out the window.

For Stiles had been wrong about Derek's reasons. Many years ago, he had been cursed by a witch who hated his family, that no lover should look upon him without turning him into a beast, unless he was loved truly and faithfully for a full year.

But the witch had underestimated the power of love and faith; Stiles spent the remainder of the year searching fruitlessly for a wolf with Derek's eyes. On the day of his wedding anniversary, still faithful, he found Derek restored to human shape, and they lived happily ever after.

* * *

55.

**Warnings:** N/A  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

 

Once upon a time there was an awkward fawn and a gangly cub who grew to become a majestic stag and a fearsome wolf. They played at prey and predator until the day the wolf became the stag's protector when hunters sought his rare white pelt.

One day, the wolf arrived too late. The stag was swift and strong, but blinded with pain; he fled, leaving behind a trail of blood that the wolf followed, his heart stuttering with fear for the stag's life. The wolf came upon a cabin but didn't understand how the path could lead him here until the door opened to reveal the most beautiful boy he had ever seen -- one with big doe eyes and milky white skin and a grievous wound exactly where the stag's had been.

Another boy helped him onto his horse, and they were away with haste. The wolf chased them because the boy was the stag and both the boy and the stag were _his_ , but he was tired from the hunt and had to turn back when his Alpha howled for his return.

The wolf never saw the stag again.

Until --

 

 

*

"Stop brooding. You're not being executed," Laura said. She dragged him through the castle toward the Great Hall.

"I'm not brooding," Derek said, even though he was. He'd always known there was only one for him, and he'd lost his mate years ago. "I wish I knew whom I was marrying."

Laura looked at him strangely. "You've known him since you were children."

Derek tried to remember, but couldn't. His mind was full of memories of the stag.

 

 

*

Derek stared at his groom in shock. It was the boy, older now, his hair longer than it had been, his shoulders broad. Derek barely heard the Bishop recite the liturgy, had only listened long enough to hear -- _Stiles_. Stiles didn't meet his eyes. He was unhappy, heartbroken, sad.

His eyes drifted to Stiles' shoulder where the wound had been, and whispered, "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you that day."

Stiles' eyes met his, his brow furrowing. His nose wrinkled, as if trying to catch Derek's scent. Derek's heart hurt until he saw the flash of recognition in those brown eyes and caught moment the bitter scent of sadness became overwhelming joy.

They skipped the traditional vows and kissed, much to the Bishop's dismay.

 

 

*

They were playmates again, though playmates of a different sort.

Derek kissed every inch of Stiles' lean body, drunk on his scent, made delirious by Stiles' soft whimpers and softer moans. He bit and nipped, sucked bruises where they would show, and nosed tenderly at an aged scar that was a reminder of what he'd nearly lost and swore to never lose again.

Stiles flipped them over and worshipped Derek in a way that made him feel at once powerful and weak. Stiles knelt between Derek's legs and kissed and nuzzled and licked before taking Derek into his mouth. Breathless and trembling, Derek shoved Stiles away before he was made to come.

He was emboldened by Stiles' rich laugh. He pushed Stiles onto his hands and knees. He pressed kisses along Stiles' spine. He put his mouth on Stiles and tongued him open until he begged for mercy. He worked a finger into Stiles using a slippery salve prepared for this express purpose, then two, then three. Stiles' desperate keens made Derek's cock harder than it had ever been.

Derek pulled Stiles' hips up. He waited for Stiles to steady himself on his elbows. He rutted against the cleft of Stiles' ass until Stiles looked over his shoulder at him and said, " _Gods_ , just, _please_."

Derek took himself in hand and mounted his mate. Slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurt Stiles. But Stiles, impatient as ever, pushed back until Derek was completely sheathed. It took all that he had to keep from spilling then.

He mouthed at Stiles' shoulder and thrusted shallowly until neither could stand it and fucked hard until they both came.

They collapsed onto the bed, blissed and sated, and clung to the other, murmuring soft affectations, until they drifted into sleep, never to part again.

 

 

*

A majestic stag and fearsome wolf ruled the woods where hunters never dared go. They played at prey and predator. They slept beneath a great oak tree when they were tired. They watched the sun set and the moon rise every day, and...

And they lived happily ever after.

* * *

56.

**Warnings:** n/a  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

_Once upon a time, in a kingdom not so far away, there lived a very lonely king. He had no queen, nor princes or princesses. He had no subjects, either._

_One day, when the king was surveying his land, he came across two interlopers: a prince and his knight. The prince begged for mercy, they were lost, he'd said, but it was the knight's handsome visage and heart of gold that intrigued the king and persuaded his leniency._

_After many years and countless trials with the knight coming to the king's aid without hesitation and despite great fear, the king began to value and respect the noble knight._

_Now, the king was aware of a great many kingdoms and lands outside of his own borders, but he had explored only one before he met the stalwart knight. That mysterious land was full of smooth plains and supple, rolling hills; it was beautiful, but treacherous._

_He was lured to a deep cave within a haunted forest by an evil bi— witch. It was filled with lush treasures and greater pleasures, but when he returned to his family lands, it was to find them in ruins and ash. From that day forward, the young king vowed never again to explore foreign lands._

_But our noble and headstrong knight wouldn't stand for the solitude so desired by the king. He wished with all his heart to draw the king out of his shell, to get him to visit the knight's own lands, to live in the world once again._

_It didn't help that his immediate attraction to the king would be neither quashed nor ignored. It arose in reminder at the most inopportune times. The knight found himself frozen with it, nearly dripping in anticipation from being near the handsome, fearless king. He wished to be close to the king at all times, to visit the king's royal chambers and be wrapped up tight in the king's opulent cape with him._

_The turning point came one day when the knight and the king joined forces to aid the prince in a quest to slay a dragon. Little did they know, the dragon had a master and had no command of his own actions. But the master was cruel and cunning and he locked the brave knight and dashing king up together—nary an inch of space between them. They wriggled against each other in a frantic, fruitless bid for freedom, and it was at that moment that the knight first—finally,_ thankfully _—felt the king's attraction for him._

_This was no trivial attraction, but seemed to consume the king fully, straightening his back and ruffling his cape about. This was temptation and desire personified. At long last, their passion acknowledged, things began to change between the rugged king and his spunky knight._

_Their ardor professed, the king finally began to explore the knight's estate. It was vastly different from the witch's lands he had previously surveyed and which had cost him so much. These lands were lavish and plentiful; dotted with stiff peaks, and sharp outcroppings. But the lands were also fertile and brought the king great comfort._

_It felt like weeks before the king was ready to plunge into the greatest depths of the knight's lands. And when the king finally entered the knight's—_

"Stiles, why are you talking to my penis?"

"I'm telling it the story of how I finally got you into bed."

"Is— is the _king_ my dick?"

"Yup. And now that the king is awake, maybe he wants to plunder my dark tower?"

_The king did, indeed, spend many hours displaying great strength and stamina plundering the knight's dark tower. And would again for many months and years to follow, as they lived happily ever after._

* * *

57.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Stiles

He’d thought Deaton was joking when he took one look at Scott and murmured, “Sleeping Beauty”. That’s what passes for humor in Beacon Hills, right? Except, of course, Deaton isn’t joking, because that’s not his style. Staring enigmatically and giving cryptic clues is Deaton’s style. That’s precisely what he does.

“The spell isn’t harmful,” he says, like he’s gentling a ferret. “It’s more… inconvenient. He may even awaken on his own.”

“When?” Stiles asks, because he’s so practised in asking the pertinent questions it’s too rapid a response to refer to it as second nature.

“Two, maybe three months.”

“How do we wake him before that?”

“There are many solutions to be found among lore and legend…”

Stiles has no patience to speak of, and it’s painfully obvious when he puts a hand in front of Deaton’s face and yells at him. “Tell me the most commonly used, for the love of God.”

“A kiss,” Deaton says. There’s a pregnant pause. In Stiles’ experience, these are never good. “From one who loves him, whom he loves in return.”

He does his damnedest to pretend like everything’s going to be a-okay. “Easy. I’ll get Melissa on the phone.”

“Not that kind of love.”

Fuck.

He half-suspected this would be true. Stiles begins the slow, sure descent into hell.

*

They can only kiss Scott once every three days. Something about checks and balances, compensation, the law of threes, yada yada. Stiles stopped paying attention to speeches approximately forever ago.

Kira kisses Scott first. They dated for two months, so it should work, but it looks flat. Malia goes next, but there’s nothing. Then Lydia; the same. Stiles feels weird that he doesn’t feel weirder seeing Lydia kiss Scott. Once upon a time that would have wrought bloody-minded vengeance, but he’s a combination of annoyed and frantic that it’s been this long and Scott’s still in the land of nod. Isaac comes back from Paris to bestow his kiss, seems put out that Scott remains asleep until the moment he catches Malia’s eye. Derek shrugs and gives Scott the sweetest-looking of all the kisses.

“Wrong kind of love, I suppose.”

“There’s no such thing, surely,” Stiles replies, more than a little wound up.

He gets eight pats on the back.

It’s not like he wants to find out Scott’s in love again, he just wants his best friend. The next couple of days suck the most, because he knows that when it’s his turn, Scott remaining dead to the world will be confirmation of everything he’s never wanted to know.

*

For the first time since this started, Stiles sits next to Scott and really looks at him. He’d asked to be left alone. No one questioned why. He’s held Scott’s hand a couple times a week, has sat and told him about his day, but he hasn’t _cataloged_. Scott looks beautiful, well-rested and calm. Stiles has never wanted to hear his voice more.

He leans in, presses their lips together. It’s perfunctory, professional. Has to be or he thinks he’ll crack in two. He doesn’t expect the hand that shoots out and grasps hold of his wrist, or Scott’s eyes slowly opening.

“Hey,” Scott murmurs. His lips curve into an indulgent smile. “Do that again.”

Stiles does. He’s never had so much an iron will as an aluminum one. Scott pulls him onto the bed, cards his fingers through his hair as he claims his mouth. It’s messier than Stiles has ever expected, rougher. Scott kisses him like he may never get the chance again.

“You should’ve gone first,” Scott intones, smoothing his hands over Stiles’ lower back.

“You knew what was happening?”

“Ahuh.”

“You have to tell me. I want ratings.”

Scott’s fingers venture under Stiles’ waistband and he quirks an eyebrow. “Right now?”

Stiles shakes his head so fast he feels it might fall off.

It takes no time for them to get naked and rut against one another. Stiles would be ashamed, except he isn’t. Scott reaches under his bed and pulls out a tube of slick to ease the way. It warms up quickly, pools in Scott’s dips and hollows. Stiles moans and whimpers into Scott’s mouth, rocking his hips back and forth. Wet, hot, perfect. He loves how Scott grips him tight, makes him slow down, savor. He’s close, just needs a little more.

Scott pulls back from a particularly desperate kiss to brush his thumb over Stiles’ cheek.

“Come for me?” he whispers.

Stiles comes hard.

“Always.”

* * *

58.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Jackson/Stiles  
Stilinski’s pale, skeletal, half-dead and looking to slide into full when Jackson sees him for the first time in well over a year. He bares his teeth, mean without provocation. “Lydia isn’t here,” he spits.

Even over the crap Skype connection, Jackson can hear the drag of his heartbeat—too slow. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, against his better judgment, expression twisted like he might catch whatever plague Stilinski’s clearly contracted.

Stilinski blanches, snaps, “Your face,” and closes Lydia’s laptop on him.

Which is fine with Jackson, looking at that much unattractiveness had been more than worthy of a _Fear Factor_ -esque challenge.

 

 

* * *

He doesn’t know why he keeps staring at it— _youvebeensolo’d_. He never should have saved the damn thing, but Lydia wouldn’t let it go. ‘You were both the things that went bump in the night; discuss.’

Honestly, he’s more surprised that Stilinski answers than that he’s called. “Lydia told me,” he says bluntly.

Stilinski still looks like shit, coming into focus slowly. The skin under his eyes is smudged dark and his sockets are sunken. “And you’ve retained it this long? Kudos, Scaly.”

Jackson tilts his head to the side, decides, “You look like death.”

“You look like a douche.” Stilinski jerks back and Jackson focuses until he can hear the Sheriff calling up to him. He leaves without so much as a ‘peace, dickwipe,’ comes back a half hour later and collapses face first into his bed.

Jackson doesn’t end the session. Instead, he lets Stilinski’s breathing slip between the notes of _Street Lights_ while he finishes his Romanticism essay. He’s been lulled into a light doze himself by the time he hears the spike in the heartbeat, the thrashing. Stilinski’s wrapped up in his sheets, holding a pencil in his fist above his abdomen.

“Stilinski! _Stiles_.” Dark eyes shoot open, fingers tighten and release, and Stilinski drops the makeshift katana. Lydia’d told Jackson about that too. “You were dreaming.”

Stilinski pants, looks over at him like he has no idea how he got there. He swallows and drags in air like it’s in limited supply. When he’s not so desperate for it, he hefts himself up and over, his collar drenched with sweat. He sits down heavily, doesn’t meet Jackson’s eyes. “I killed a lot of people.”

It sounds like the start to a 12-step meeting. ‘Hello, I’m Stiles and I killed a lot of people.’

The first step is admitting it.

Jackson smirks and arches both eyebrows. It’s a weak shield. “The police department doesn’t fare well around there, does it?”

Stilinski’s staring down at his hands. “How do you sleep?”

Jackson lets the words twist out of his mouth. “I don’t.” Stilinski nods, starts to stand. “Stiles.” He freezes, tensing up, and Jackson sighs. “You slayed the dragon, you know—freed the princess from the tower or whatever and now you’re moving on to—to the happily ever after.” He shrugs, says somewhat wryly, “It’s not as easy as the fairy tales make it out to be.”

Stilinski actually manages to crack a smile. Jackson gets the feeling it’s been a while since the last one and _he’s_ the one who got it out of him. “I’m the princess, am I?” Stilinski asks sardonically.

Jackson means to give him a superior sneer. He’s pretty sure his eyes linger too long on Stilinski’s mouth to pull it off.

 

 

* * *

Jackson wakes him from the nightmares. Night after night. Stilinski never thanks him for it. Which is fine. Jackson never wants him to.

He jokingly tells Stilinski that jerking off tends to ensure a dreamless sleep. He’d only been half-hoping it would lead to him getting his dick out.

It does.

 

 

* * *

Stiles wipes his come-covered hand off on his sheets, because he’s disgusting, and blinks wide eyes at him. Jackson’s no better, t-shirt soaked through and thighs still spread obscenely. “You watch me sleep,” Stiles says somewhat snidely, because Jackson’s the only person he can still be cruel to without having to watch him then search for some hint of _void_ behind it. “Is being creepy as shit a werewolf trait?”

Jackson grins, chest still heaving. He points at Stiles. “Princess.” Then to himself. “Knight.”

Stiles looks up at him, eyes searching, and says slowly, “They tend to end up together, you know?”

Jackson shrugs, feigning nonchalance while his heart pounds painfully in his chest. “At least I know you don’t snore.”

* * *

59.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Cora/Stiles

Cora presses her cheek against the bark and closes her eyes, her claws sinking a little deeper into the trunk of the tree. She tries to calm herself down, and yet…

“Could you go any fucking slower, Stilinski?”

She hears a snort somewhere below her, but doesn’t look to see how far. “This would be a lot easier if you would let down your hair so I can climb up.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Just a suggestion, but you may not want to antagonize the person who’s rescuing you,” he says, and there’s a _crunch_ that makes Cora’s stomach lurch. Stiles, however, sounds infuriatingly calm. “Food for thought.”

“Stiles,” she says, trying to control her breathing, “no offense, but was there literally no one else they could spare? Someone of the werewolf persuasion?” She wouldn’t admit it under pain of death, but she doesn’t want him to see her like this.

“ _Literally_ everyone else is fighting the harpies. You remember, the ones that put you up here in the first place?”

He sounds like he’s getting closer, and every time he moves up another step, the tree shakes a little. Not much, but more than Cora would like. Stiles must be almost here; she can smell the sharp tang of his sweat and hear a great deal of grunting and creaking.

“So,” Stiles says, and he sounds like he’s right in front of her now. “A werewolf who’s afraid of heights. How does that work?”

She forces herself to open her eyes and Stiles is not even two feet away, perched on a branch on the opposite side of the tree. He’s got a coil of rope tossed over his shoulder and he’s tying one end of it to the branch. “We don’t spend a lot of time flying,” she grits out.

His smile is crooked and bright, though there’s no hint of mockery in it and she could kiss him for that. Once they’re safely on the ground, where nature intended all non-winged creatures to remain.

He just shifts until he’s standing on the branch and reaches out for her. “Okay, we can do this one of two ways. You could climb on my back and—”

“Nope.”

“Okay, we can do this one of one way…”

^^^

Later, Stiles only makes one fear-of-heights joke when Cora shoves his naked body onto the bed and climbs on top of him. She’s well aware that he goes pretty nonverbal when she’s riding him.

There are scratches and scrapes on the hands that reach for her, that gently squeeze her breasts and rub over her nipples. She arches into the touch and gives him room to piston up into her, closing her eyes to listen to the sweet, helpless noises he makes when she clenches around him.

He drops a hand down to fumble at her clit. It won’t make her come, but it feels good, sends lovely little shocks of sensation through her pelvis as she rocks down on him. He’s saying her name now, which means he won’t take much longer, so she opens her eyes to see the way his eyes screw shut and his neck arches. She leans down to bite and he shouts, shuddering beneath her as he comes.

Before she can even give him a proper hickey, he pulls out of her and makes quick work of the condom before yanking her forward on the bed. She catches herself on the headboard before he goes in for the kill, licking at her in long, flat swipes that have her pressing her hips against his face.

She feels open and hungry for two of his clever fingers, too worked up for the way his tongue is flicking lightly against her swollen clit. She snarls and he laughs, the vibrations of it making her voice drop into a whimper. After that, he stops fucking around, puts his mouth right where she needs it most and rolls his tongue against her. Then he _sucks_ and she falls right over the edge, riding out the hard shivers, trapped between his mouth and his fingers.

They end up in a sweaty tangle with only the minimal involvement of sheets. Stiles is giving her that tender look that she never knows what to do with, so she reverts to what she knows best: snark. “Don’t start thinking you’re my Prince Charming or anything.”

Stiles laughs, showily licking his lips that are still wet with her. “I’d like to see Prince Charming do _that_.”

* * *

60.

**Warnings:** Temporary (canonical) character death  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek/Lydia/Allison/Scott  
“Women in our family have three weapons,” Lydia’s mother said, taking Lydia’s tiny hands in hers and clucking at her torn fingernails and bloody knuckles. “Fists aren’t one of them.”

“But--!”

Her mother shushed her. “If you fight, fight to win. Use your mind, not your fists. Your mind is your first weapon.” She nodded at their reflections in the mirror. “Your second is beauty.”

Lydia winced at her black eye and dirt-streaked face.

“Nothing a bath and some concealer won’t fix,” her mother said.

“Make-up?” Lydia breathed. Her mother nodded. Lydia snuggled into her side. “What’s the third weapon?”

Her mother smiled mysteriously. “You’ll find out when you’re older.”

~*~

Scott and Isaac balanced mirrors from the trees, beaming moonlight into Allison's open grave. Lydia squeezed Stiles's hand. Isaac's lips moved in a silent prayer. Hope and despair warred on Scott’s face.

Nothing happened.

"Why isn't it working?" Lydia cried. "It worked with Peter!"

"Peter was a werewolf," a woman said, her face obscured by the hood of a purple cloak. The werewolves growled. Stiles drew Lydia behind him.

She lowered the hood.

“You're a _Ban Sidhe_ ,” her mother said. “To resurrect a human, you’ll need your third weapon-"

"My voice!"

Her mother smiled proudly. Together, they called to Allison.

~*~

It should have been a happy ending, but still the Nemeton shrieked for restitution. Roots and branches papered the walls of Lydia's bedroom. She borrowed books from Deaton, Chris, Derek, even Peter. She dreamt in Latin.

One morning, Lydia opened a lipstick tube. Two hours later, she blinked at a ritual scrawled across the mirror in MAC Flamingo.

They gathered at the Nemeton that evening. Lydia and Allison. Stiles and Scott. Derek. Five points on a pentacle. Five fingers on a hand. Five for wholeness.

When Lydia outlined the plan, Derek scowled. “No.”

Scott shot a questioning glance at Allison, who smiled. “I trust Lydia.”

“Well I don’t!” Derek turned, but Stiles caught his elbow.

“Trust _me_ ,” he said. “This will work.”

Derek stared into Stiles’s eyes, still hollow from the Nogitsune. He nodded.

Allison’s mouth tasted like the Reeses cups they’d shared in the car. She squeezed Lydia’s hand, and dimpled at Scott before kissing him, too, sweet and familiar. Laughing, Scott and Stiles shared a wet, smacking kiss.

Still grinning, Stiles turned to Derek, who caught him by the shirt and hauled him in. Stiles flailed, then his hands found Derek’s shoulders. Derek hugged him tight, almost lifting him off his feet. They leaned forehead to forehead, dazed.

Lydia tapped Derek’s shoulder. When he turned, she stepped onto her tiptoes, kissed him chastely. Winking at him, she pulled off her sundress.

Stiles tripped attempting to remove his jeans and get to Lydia without letting go of Derek’s hand.

“Can I eat you out?” He glanced apologetically at Derek. “It doesn’t mean– I don’t, not anymore, but I’ve always wanted–”

“It’s _fine_.”

“I’ll ride your face, while Derek goes down on you,” Lydia suggested. “Okay?”

Derek was already unbuttoning his jeans.

Stiles sprawled bonelessly on the Nemeton. Kneeling over him, Lydia lowered herself until his nose brushed her cunt. He surged up, gripping her hips, dragging his whole face through her cunt before going to work.

Lydia sighed happily.

Stiles froze, groaning, before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm. Lydia glanced back in time to see Derek swallowing Stiles’s cock. Derek blushed, but kept working his way down Stiles’s length. Lydia touched Derek’s cheek, carded fingers through his hair. Then warm hands cupped her breasts, drawing her attention.

Allison gave her a devilish smile, small breasts bouncing as Scott fucked her from behind. Bowing her head, Allison latched onto a nipple, mouth hot and perfect.

“Hot!” Scott groaned, leaning forward. He kissed like she remembered, fierce and determined. He nipped her lower lip and Lydia whimpered, grinding down on Stiles’s face. Heat rose in her belly. She gripped Scott’s shoulder, other hand tangling into Allison’s silky hair.

Stiles shoved at her hips. Lydia lifted up to give him air. But two surprisingly thick fingers drove inside her, right before his mouth closed over her clit again. Panting, she glanced back in time to see Derek’s hand wedged between her body and Stiles’s face, his other hand pumping frantically between his legs.

Cool air engulfed her wet nipple as Allison pulled off, shuddering in ecstasy. Scott cupped Lydia’s cheek, licking into her mouth just as Derek’s fingers crooked hard.

Lydia threw back her head.

And screamed.

* * *

61.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles  
Very loosely inspired by The Princess Who Never Smiled

Sometimes, Derek thinks the worst thing about the nogitsune attack is the sadness that lingers in Stiles. Derek has spent most of his time with the Stilinskis lately, after signing on as deputy to help the sheriff with the supernatural cases.

He can see the way the Stiles is slipping, the way he never smiles or looks anyone in the eyes anymore. He isn’t bold. He’s fading into the background, and it’s killing Derek.

He decides to do something about it when he finds out Stiles skipped his junior prom.

The setup isn’t elaborate, like he’s seen sometimes on television. Derek just isn’t the type of person for grand gestures. He’s always been a creative, albeit simplistic person. But he’s cleared out the main room of the loft and set up a few tables covered with a clean, white cloth. Sheer fabric covers the walls, and there’s some old Christmas lights looping around the edges of the ceiling. Lastly, and he’ll admit this was all Lydia’s idea, there are white balloons strung from the ceiling, creating an almost cloudlike effect mere feet above his head.

With the lights dimmed and music playing softly in the background, though, it’s a fairytale.

Stiles’s reaction when he sees it does not disappoint. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open.

“Derek, wha-?”

Derek feels self conscious, standing in the middle of his transformed loft, wearing a three piece suit.

“You didn’t go to prom, so I brought prom to you.” He cringes and hopes he doesn’t sound lame.

If he does, Stiles doesn’t seem to notice. Stiles looks…entranced. Then regretful. “I don’t have a suit.”

Derek leads Stiles to his bedroom. Spread out across the bed is a suit nearly identical to Derek’s. “Your father brought it over.”

Derek waits for Stiles in the main room. Stiles soon returns, tie in hand. He twists the fabric around his fingers. “I’ve never really been good at these,” he says.

Derek takes the tie from him, loops it around his neck and tucks it under his collar. Once he’s done with the knot, he smooths it out, fingers skimming across the silk of the tie and the soft cotton his shirt. It takes a moment for him to realize how close they are to each other. He feels Stiles’s breath brush across his cheek, feels the heat from Stiles’s body radiating through him. When he looks up, their gazes lock. “You look beautiful,” Derek says, before he can stop himself.  
Stiles freezes for a moment, and then a slow, soft smile spreads across his face. It lights up his eyes, tension releases from his shoulders, and the lines around his mouth disappear. It’s as if Stiles has shed years in front of him. He’s radiant and young and _happy_. Derek doesn’t even try to stop himself when he reaches up to gently run his thumb along Stiles’s bottom lip.

A sweet song is playing, and before he can second guess himself, Derek pulls Stiles closer, into his arms. He rests his hands on Stiles’s waist and leans forward until his forehead rests against Stiles’s. It’s intimate, even more so when Stiles slides his hands up around Derek’s neck, and it’s no effort at all to touch their lips together in a chaste kiss as they sway slowly.

They pull apart for a moment, then press back together, the kiss deepening when Stiles slides his tongue into Derek’s mouth. They kiss and taste and revel in each other. The songs change, and neither notices, and Derek can’t breathe because even with his eyes closed, he can feel Stiles grinning against his lips, and he thinks he might burst from happiness.

They dance and kiss and touch, for hours, it seems, until Derek loses track of the songs that have played, until the moon has shifted in the sky and he senses dawn is only a couple hours away.

It’s Stiles who leads Derek back to the bedroom, lays him across the bed and fits himself between Derek’s legs. Stiles’s tastes the skin of his neck, and Derek splays his hand across Stiles’s back, tracing his spine as their clothed groins press together.

And through it all, Stiles continues to smile, and Derek grins back, an easy feat in Stiles’s presence. They lay there, after, in each other’s arms, as the sun rises and bathes them in light.

He hears Stiles whisper just before he falls asleep. “Thank you.”

* * *

62.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Scott/Isaac

 

Hi, my name is Erica Reyes and I’m no angel. Well, I guess technically I am. I’m dead. I’m in heaven. But it’s complicated. Though I suppose it’s not really that complicated if you’ve ever seen _It’s A Wonderful Life_ or any of the other million hokey movies where people die and they have to earn their wings.

My mission is now to unite one Isaac Lahey with his apparent soulmate Scott McCall, a caramel-coated hottie with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. Isaac has a bit of a rough exterior but underneath he’s a really sensitive and kind person. How hard could this be?

_Famous. Last. Words._

I’ve seen enough romantic comedies to know that they were going to need a meet cute. I’m lazy so I just decided to wait until they were both in the same place at the same time. I didn’t have to wait long when they both ended up at the Beacon Hills skating rink. Isaac always liked to go there to unwind and found skating to be relaxing. Scott was dragged there by his hyper, skinny, but oddly cute best friend Stiles. _Man, I could have made a meal out of that boy when I was alive._

Even though they were at the same place, Isaac and Scott never bumped into each other. Impatient, I decided to speed things along and guide Scott toward Isaac.

_Big mistake._

Scott ended up flying across the ice and couldn’t get control before he crashed into Isaac and landed on top of him with a loud thud.

Isaac wasn’t a happy camper and yelled at Scott before storming off.

So, it was back to the drawing board for me. And, what I came up with I’m not exactly proud of, so don’t judge. You see, Scott works at a vet’s off. And Isaac has the cutest little golden retriever named Lucky. And what better way to get two people together than a cute puppy. An...injured cute puppy.

Yes, I maimed a dog to get what I needed. He was going to be fine.

“He’s going to be fine.” Scott told Isaac.

_See._

It was working. I could see the way Isaac was looking at Scott has he went above and beyond to be not only kind and sweet to Lucky, but to Isaac as well.

This could be it. They’d exchange numbers and go on a date and see how perfect they were for each other. _Bang!_ Next stop sex and love and marriage and babies and…

You have got to be kidding me. After staring at each other awkwardly for eternity, they just said goodbye. No number. No date. No sex. _Uggggh!_

Alright, it was time for these two to date whether they liked it or not. Well, kind of. I arranged for them to be seated next to each other while they simultaneously experienced the worst blind dates ever. Isaac’s date was so boring that Isaac almost lapsed into a coma. And Scott was paired with a fiery red-head who abruptly left after telling Scott he wasn’t her match intellectually and probably would be too timid in bed.

_Ouch_

But it was a good thing. Because Isaac took pity on Scott, and after ditching his date Greenberg invited himself over. He and Scott eventually hit it off. They talked about everything - their families, past pets, past loves, favorite sports team. An honest to goodness date. They just had to kiss and they would seal the deal.

But more than just kissing ensued. They put on an honest to goodness sex show when they got to Isaac’s apartment. And boy, was that Lydia chick wrong. Scott took control when they got to the bedroom. He bit marks into Isaac’s neck that wouldn’t heal for days - maybe months. And Isaac loved it.

Scott turned him over and thrust into him roughly over and over again. Isaac came. Scott came. And if I weren’t dead, I would have came as well.

_Fucking finally!_ I had earned my wings. And wow, they popped in fast.

I got my wings, I magicked up some popcorn, and settled back on a cloud as the boys got ready for round 2.

* * *

63.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

"My _what_?"

The girl sighs and plants both hands on her hips. "Your fairy godmother. You can call me Lydia."

"Right," Stiles says. "Well, Lydia, is this going to take much longer? Not that you aren't lovely, but I have a run to finish and a job to get to."

Lydia huffs. "Don't move," she orders, and smacks him on top of the head with her wand.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

Lydia snorts. "If you think I'm saying _bippity-boppity-boo_ , you're delusional."

"If you think I thought that I'm Cinderella, _you're_ delusional."

Lydia laughs. "I like you, Stiles. Now go fall in love."

Between one blink and the next she disappears, leaving Stiles alone again in the woods.

Well, he thinks he's alone until he hears the snap of a twig nearby and jerks his head around to see a painfully gorgeous man step out from behind a tree.

*

The man's name is Derek, and Stiles is about eighty-five percent sure he isn't dangerous. He starts running with Stiles every morning, meeting him in the preserve and then continuing his workout when Stiles has to leave for work.

Derek is quiet and withdrawn at first, like he's not entirely sure how to interact with Stiles, but Stiles is nothing if not persistent and eventually Derek starts to open up more and more.

*

"Go out with me," Stiles blurts, surprising himself. He's wanted to ask Derek out for months now, but he's never been sure if his advances would be welcome.

Derek's head snaps up, eyes going wide and vulnerable. "Out?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Like on a date. We can do the whole dinner and a movie thing, or we can, I don't know, go bowling?"

A myriad of emotions flicker over Derek's face before settling on regret. "Stiles, I can't. I'm sorry."

Stiles' stomach sinks. "Okay," he says. He looks away for a moment, swallowing hard, and then back to Derek. "I think I'm going to go."

Derek doesn't follow.

*

"So how's it going?"

Lydia is standing in the middle of his living room.

"It isn't _going_ at all," Stiles snaps.

"Why the hell not? It's been ages, surely the two of you have fallen for each other by now."

"One of us has," Stiles says stiffly.

"Stiles," Lydia says, pointing her wand at him, "get your ass to the preserve tomorrow morning before dawn, while it's still dark. If you don't, I will find a way to hex you, fairy godmother or not."

*

So it turns out that Derek is stuck in the woods, cursed by a dark witch. During the day he's human, but at night he's a full-fledged wolf.

"My life is a goddamned fairytale," Stiles says, and leans over to plant a firm kiss on Derek's muzzle.

*

"Is this what you wanted?" Derek asks, leaning down to bite at the back of Stiles' neck. "My hard dick deep inside you?"

"Yes," Stiles gasps, shifting back for more despite Derek already being balls deep. "Oh god yes, you feel so good, oh fuck –"

It's hard and rough and exactly what Stiles wants, and he moans, open-mouthed and loud. Derek growls and snaps his hips over and over, rutting into Stiles so hard it pushes him up the pile of blankets.

"Oh god, oh fuck," Derek moans, shoving deep and _grinding_ for a few seconds before continuing with his brutal pace.

Stiles can do nothing but lie there and take it, face pressed into the blankets and ass in the air as Derek slams into him. All sorts of sounds are pouring from Stiles' mouth, garbled words and choked off moans, his body thrumming with heat and pleasure.

"Gonna come," Derek gasps out, thrusts going from long and hard to short and wild. "Gonna come, _Stiles_ –"

Stiles lets out a desperate sob, reaching with one hand for his aching dick. He hadn't wanted to touch it until Derek was ready, and now he grips himself tightly and gives a few harsh strokes. Stiles clenches down hard when he comes, eyes rolling back as his dick pulses in his hand. Behind him Derek digs his fingers in and slams deep, grinding again, hips hitching as he fills Stiles with his come.

*

Bringing Derek back into civilization won't be easy, but Stiles thinks they'll probably live happily ever after anyway.

* * *

64.

**Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Boyd/Parrish

 

"Get to your charge. Get him out of here," Derek wheezes, thrown into a wall. Boyd pauses to consider but Derek gets back to his feet and snarls, dives into two of Decalion's soldiers and knocks them back, holds them at bay.

The tower stairs are silent as Boyd takes them two at a time, leaving the skirmish behind.

There's nothing up here but the clatter of his armor and the faint, rapid heartbeat of the Beast, hiding in his bedroom.

At the top, Boyd draws his sword and carefully, slowly pushes the tower room's door ajar.

He's stood sentry outside this door for years, slept on these stones and still he's never set foot within.

He lets himself into the quiet dark.

 

"Don't look at me," the Beast says softly, hiding his face miserably in his hands, his drawn up knees.

"It is Vernon Boyd of Hale Pack. I've come to take you to safety," he says and sets his sword in offering to the Beast.

The Beast's shoulders stiffen and he breathes out _Boyd_? Remembering the conversations they've had, through the door. The way they held hands one time, through a crack in the door, his little, strange paw trembling in Boyd's.

"Please. Parrish, you have to come," Boyd says and he can hear the begging quality of his own voice. "I can't protect you here anymore."

Parrish is shivering now, frightened. "I can't let you see me. _I can't_."

Boyd sets his sword on the mussed bed and steps carefully closer. Gently, he puts his hands to the Beast's wrists, mumbles "Trust me," and tugs his hands away from his face.

The Beast is strange to look on. Moon faced and flat-featured, he blinks up at Boyd and hitches in a sharp breath.

Boyd smiles, fangs bright and burnished.

The Beast's mouth opens, all stunned. " _Oh_ , you're beautiful."

"Come," Boyd draws him up to his feet. "Come away. I am charged with your protection."

The Beast swallows, eyes following Boyd as he straps his sword back on.

"I will," Parrish agrees, faintly. "I will go where ever you go."

 

The world is changing and the Were kings no longer search for the strange Beast who disappeared into the Hale forests and into obscurity like his brethren before him.

You can find him, humming away at his work in a little cottage by a brook in the old alder grove.

"These are good," Derek says with pride, lifting the Beast's leather work up to check it in the firelight.

The Beast smiles shyly. His mask hangs by the door now where Boyd rests his jacket, his baldric. The pack has grown comfortable with him, has remade his odd features into something dear.

"He's quiet like you," his Alpha muses when Parrish slips out for brook water. Boyd shrugs. Derek doesn't see the way the Beast chatters like a happy little squirrel to Boyd, when they're all alone.

At night, Parrish moves like a pinned creature, like a _frantic_ little squirrel, scrawny-chested and blotchy, body _singing_ underneath Boyd's, tuned to him, lit up and almost lovely in his pleasure.

"You--" Parrish always says, so astonished with Boyd, touching his strong face, the cut and sinew of the wolf in his brow.

They mate in a tumble, Parrish's body rippling around him, so unexpectedly receptive and wanton-hot inside. It is not the matching companionship of a wolf, but it is good, good enough to make Boyd pant into mottled skin, burn so brightly for him.

And when he comes, Parrish sets little, blunt teeth in Boyd's shoulder like a nipping cub, and Boyd shakes dust out of the cottage walls when he roars in return.

* * *

65.

**Warnings: Minor bondage, knife play**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Lydia**

Lydia walks into the room, dressed in a red leather bustier and little else. Derek strains against the table, the restraints cutting into his wrists, his nails cutting into his palms. She's holding something, but he can't tell what it is, not from his angle.

"My, what big eyes you have," she says, caressing his leg with her free hand. Her nails catch against his skin, sending shivers up his body. He feels his cock grow harder, feels it straining against his stomach. She runs her fingertips over it slowly, agonizingly. He strains upwards, desperate for a firmer touch, and she pulls away, smiling. As his body falls to rest against the table, she lays her hand flat against his stomach, just barely brushing his erection. Pressing just shy of too hard, she moves her hand over his skin, boldly following the contours of his flesh. He licks his lips, breathing heavily, skin breaking out in a thin sheen of sweat and goosebumps. She smiles, mouth quirked in a small grin, as she quickly pinches a nipple, making him gasp. Her grin turns feral, and she cups his neck, nails resting heavily behind his ear.

"My, what big teeth you have," she says, thumbing his mouth open. He lets his jaw fall loose, dropping open so that she can slip her thumb into the wet heat. He bites down gently, then sucks her thumb deep into his mouth, tongue wrapping carefully around the digit. His cheeks hollow out, drawing it in. He sees Lydia shiver and feels a flush of pride rush through him. She pulls her hand back, her thumb escaping from Derek's mouth with a loud, wet pop. She presses her hand to the table, then lifts herself over his body, legs splayed across his stomach. She's wet, the thin material of her panties dark and damp.

"My, what a big mouth you have." She leans forward, the words whispered against his lips. The kiss is more passionate than he expects, their teeth clashing harshly before it softens. Derek opens underneath her, letting her lead, more than happy to follow. Her tongue is warm and solid against his, the taste of her mouth making him groan and raise up from the table, hips tilting, desperate. Lydia clucks her tongue at him, lifting away, mouth swollen and red. That's when Derek sees the knife, sharp and gleaming in her hand.

She presses it gently against his throat, and he bares it, feeling his pulse racing, beating against the solid steel. She trails the sharp point over his skin, leaving a small indent where she presses, hard enough to mark but not hard enough to cut. He groans, fighting the urge to arch his back, to press into the cold metal. Lydia knows what she's doing, grinning above him like a hunter eyeing prey, already caught and struggling in her trap. She slowly trails the blade up her own leg, brushing it under the tight fabric of her panties, then slits the silk in one smooth tug. It falls to the side. Derek can see how wet she is, wants to taste her against his mouth, to press his tongue inside. She slowly slinks up his body, knife forgotten by her knee, fingers and lips trailing up his skin. She nips at his collarbone, licks a line up his neck to his ear.

“Are you going to eat me up?” She asks, biting down on the soft lobe. He groans, twists against the ropes, and she pulls away, legs bracketing his chest. She leans her body forward, brings her pussy so it’s hovering above his mouth. He leans up, presses his mouth to it, as Lydia gasps above him, thighs shaking. He runs his tongue lazily up the center, mouth flooding with her flavor. He circles her clit, pressing gently against it with the flat of his tongue, then dipping inside of her. It’s intoxicating. The sounds she makes. The taste, the scent. The slight twinge of pain when she grinds against his face a little too hard, lost in her pleasure.

She falls forward when she comes, catching herself with a hand tangled in Derek’s hair, pulling hard enough to tear a few strands loose. She slides down his body, limp and sated. She pets his hair absentmindedly, then climbs off the table.

“Good boy,” she says, grinning.

* * *

66.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/fucking machine; Stiles/Derek

_Once upon a time…_ Stiles was a fucking idiot.

It couldn't have been more obviously a trap if it were a spinning wheel on his sixteenth birthday or a little piece of cake that said, "Eat me." But Stiles just couldn't resist the allure. He could only hope the pack – hell, the entire _town_ – wasn't placed under some sort of sleep enchantment just because he was a horny teenager with no common sense.

He knew this was stupid; he acknowledged that even as he approached the bright and shiny fucking machine in the curiously empty room. The empty room that had magically appeared off the hallway he'd _just_ been chasing a witch down.

He _knew_ it was stupid, okay?

But… he was an eighteen-year-old virgin and it was a _fucking machine_ , straight out of his favorite porn! It gleamed in the light, was set up at the perfect height and distance from the wall and… Shit.

Was he seriously going to do this?

Turning around, he bit his lip as he peered out the door and back down the hallway, looking for any sign of the witch or the pack. When no one arrived to talk sense into him, he shrugged, lowered his pants to mid-thigh, and shuffled to the machine.

Apparently he was.

He noticed an attachment on the fucking machine that held a nice-sized bottle of lube. Stiles picked it up, a hysterical laugh bursting from him when he noticed the label. MAGIC-LUBE.

"Of course. Because I _needed_ another reminder of what a stupid idea this is," Stiles muttered to himself. But he refused to back out _now_. He'd already come this far.

Hah! _Come._

As Stiles slid lube-covered fingers inside his ass, he wondered if the witch would give him a lifetime supply of Magic-Lube because _damn_.

\--  
Stiles was ready to scream. Over-stimulation bordering on the painful sent tears dripping down his cheeks as the thick dildo attachment fucked into him relentlessly. He couldn't come and he couldn't move away; when he'd tried, he'd found himself stuck, and masturbating only made things worse.

So now he was just leaning against the wall, back arching with each punishing thrust and thighs quivering in exhaustion. He wanted to die. He wanted to never see another fucking machine as long as he lived.

But mostly? He wanted to _come_.

Another sharp, sobbing groan burst out of him when the machine sped up, bringing him right back to the edge of orgasm but never letting him fall over it.

"Stiles?!" His name rang out in a disbelieving bark of sound, and Stiles turned his head to see which unlucky soul had found him.

Derek. Of _course_ it was Derek. Derek whose eyes were shock-wide and cheeks tinged red in what was most likely some extreme second-hand embarrassment. He just stood there, his jaw slack and fingers biting into the doorjamb, as the machine kept pumping maddeningly into Stiles.

As much as he knew he'd spend the rest of his life regretting this moment, Stiles couldn't help his instinctive reaction to seeing Derek. His dick jumped and a small, needy whine forced itself from his lungs.

When Derek looked like he was about to speak, Stiles just held up his hand, muffling his moans as best he could while he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice breaking every time the dildo glanced over his prostate. "Don't. Don't say it. I know, okay? I know how stupid this was. Now, could you please just get over here and help me?!"

Derek stumbled slightly entering the room, which snapped Stiles out of his arousal-laced stupor. Derek _never_ stumbled and, holy hell, he never looked at Stiles like _that_ , either. Like he just wanted to _be_ the big bad wolf and eat Stiles right up. Fuuuck, the naked longing on his face would have made Stiles come if he was able.

"Derek," Stiles begged. " _Please._ "

In seconds, Derek was on his knees, his perfect lips stretched wide around Stiles' cock. With a sound like a bubble popping, the curse on the fucking machine – or on Stiles, whichever – broke.

Three thrusts later, Stiles came so hard he pulled a muscle in his back.

Totally worth it.

"Next time?" Derek gave Stiles one last lick, then dragged a thumb over his mouth. "Don't let a machine do my job for me."

… _Happily ever after?_ Who the hell knows. But with a promise like that, Stiles was ready to find out.

* * *

67.

**Warnings:** None.  
 **Pairing:** Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

“Such a bunch of crap,” Stiles huffed as he shimmied into his tights. “They don’t even have the good sense to call them leggings. A dude can wear leggings without batting an eyelash, you know? But _tights_? They don’t exactly bring to mind the badassmotherfucker vibe I usually have going —”

A heavy hand clapped over Stiles’ mouth. It was only because the gloves were white silk that Stiles stopped himself from licking; water stained silk, if Stiles remembered correctly.

“And here I thought you weren’t the type to reduce clothing types to... what did you call it during last week? ‘Arbitrary designations of gender appropriateness?’” Derek interrupted.

Stiles wanted to answer, but he was held still and compliant by the pressure of white silk over red lips. Fortunately, Derek was a deeply observant individual. Intent and predatory, he moved even closer, pressing Stiles against the dressing room wall. Stiles let himself be held, tights still only halfway up his legs and caught around his knees.

Derek’s eyes narrowed in thought. Then he reached down, snuck a hand through the flap in his boxers, and pulled out Stiles’ dick.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles whimpered, or tried to whimper from behind the glove. It came out as more of a snuffling gasp.The swift slide of silk on silky skin had just a little bit too much friction, and he could feel the burn from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears.

_Don’t_ , he wanted to protest. _The silk, the gloves, I can’t come on them, or on your pants — semen is hell on leather_. But he couldn’t make himself protest, mostly because he didn’t want Derek to move his hand away.  
He needn’t have worried. Just as his spine starting arching and his balls started tightening, Derek dropped to his knees and sucked Stiles’ cock down in one swift, practiced motion.

Stiles ducked his head to capture Derek’s silk-clad fingers, which has slipped from Stiles’ lips, into his mouth. He sucked hard on the hot fabric, using it to muffle his cries as orgasm overwhelmed him with perfect pleasure.

“ _Fuck_.” Stiles slid to knees, then turned and braced against the wall. He reached back to tug Derek closer and to help guide Derek’s hard cock in between his thighs. He pulled off his flannel — he hadn’t gotten to the ruffled monstrosity that was his costume shirt yet — and laid it on the floor as a protective measure against Derek’s usual, excessive amount of come.

“Come on,” Stiles urged as Derek started thrusting. Stiles clenched his shaking thighs tight, then guided one of Derek’s gloved hands back to his mouth.

“Fuck, Stiles, anyone could come in, anyone could see,” Derek hissed even as his thrusts grew harder and faster. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_...”

Shaking and coming, Derek hid his usual orgasmic cry behind a drawn-out groan, and Stiles closed his eyes to better capture the sound in his memory. Then Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ chest and pressed his forehead between Stiles’ shoulders.

“All right, Charming,” Stiles chuckled after Derek calmed. “Only an hour left before the Regional Pack Association’s Samhain Ball. The gloves are a loss but I think the tights are in tact.”

Derek laughed and scooped up Stiles’ flannel to wipe them both clean. He stretched, unashamed of the way his spent cock hung out from the loosened laces of his leather pants, and smirked down at Stiles.

“Oh my god,” Stiles huffed as he awkwardly got to his feet. “You had that planned, didn’t you? I don’t have time for a shower, and now I’m going to reek of you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derek claimed with a false innocence Stiles didn’t buy for a moment.

“Uh huh.” Stiles climbed into the knee-high trousers, ruffled shirt, and velvet coat that made up his Georgian ball outfit. Sure, the red (and lack of a jabot) wasn’t in keeping with historical accuracy, but it didn’t matter. The ball was doubling as his engagement party and he didn’t care about anyone but Derek’s opinion about him. Derek, who was eyeing him appreciatively. Derek, who was going as Stiles’ pirate captive (with unconnected manacles around his wrists for a final touch).

“Wait,” Stiles said, glaring. “Pirates _do not_ wear white silk gloves! You _totally_ planned that!”

Derek laughed again and helped Stiles into his boots, then held out his arm. “Shall we? The ball, and our commonwealth, awaits.”

* * *

68.

**Warnings: None**  
 **Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

“Tell me a story,” Stiles says between coughing fits. He’s lying in bed, hair dishevelled and nose red. A box of tissues sits on the nightstand beside him.

Derek raises a sceptical brow, holding out Stiles’ medication.

“I don’t know how to tell stories,” he says, pulling back the covers and climbing in as Stiles swallows down his pills.

“Yes, you do. Come on, Derek, I’m siiiiiiiick. You’re supposed to be nice to me,” Stiles whines.

They shuffle around on the bed until Stiles is positioned between the V of Derek’s legs, head falling back to rest against his shoulder. Derek curls his arms around Stiles’ waist and presses his nose into the curve of Stiles’ neck. “I’m always nice to you.”

“Ha! Lies!”

Derek rolls his eyes, huffing.

“I’m serious. C’mon. What kind of husband denies the love of his life a story when he’s practically dying?” And then, as if to prove his point, Stiles starts coughing. Again.

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Derek relents, several minutes of coughing and several minutes of silence later. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Stiles lets out a snuffly ‘whoomp’ -- which Derek refuses to admit is adorable -- and settles further between Derek’s legs.

“Once upon a time, there lived an annoying boy who always tried to get his own way-- ow!”

“Not that kind of story, dumbass. Jesus.”

Derek laughs, just a huff of breath. “Fine. Once upon a time, there lived a prince and his wolf.”

“Nice. I see we’re going straight for the cliché.”

“Do you want a story or not?”

“Yes, sorry, continue.”

Derek smiles to himself, slipping one hand under Stiles’ shirt to press against his heart.

“The prince first found the wolf one day when he was in the woods. The wolf was sad and lonely, scared of humans, for they’d killed his entire family. He tried to scare the prince away, but even though he was afraid, the prince wouldn’t leave the wolf alone.”

Stiles snorts softly. “This story is already turning me on.”

Derek heaves an exaggerated sigh as the faint scent of arousal hits his nostrils, but strokes across Stiles’ nipple with his thumb all the same. A soft groan slips past Stiles’ lips as Derek continues with the motion, moving to the other side.

“The prince and the wolf kept running into one another, sometimes in the forest, sometimes in town, and sometimes when one of them was in danger. Despite not trusting humans, the wolf felt protective of the prince.”

Derek’s hand slips lower, running down along the trail of hair from his navel to the top of Stiles’ pajama bottoms, and even if he couldn’t smell the arousal on Stiles, he can already see the way his dick is starting to tent in his pants. Stiles’ breath hitches as Derek runs his fingers just under the seam of his pants, teasing at the skin there.

“God, Derek, c’mon,” Stiles groans.

Stiles lets out a little whimper as Derek finally wraps his hand around his dick, stroking him into full hardness before smearing precome across the head and down, easing away from of the friction. Stiles doesn’t seem to be complaining, however, as he starts to gently thrust his hips into Derek’s fist.

“One day, the prince was out in the woods when someone tried to attack him. The wolf tried to help the prince, but ended up accidentally killing the prince’s attacker instead. The people believed the wolf to be dangerous and wanted him killed, but the prince begged his father to let the wolf live.”  
Derek speeds up his strokes, relishing in the noises Stiles is making, the way his dick is a hot and heavy weight in his hand.

“Because the king was a kind and just man, he allowed the wolf to live, but banned him from the kingdom. The wolf realized then that he actually loved the prince. But because his life was spared, the wolf agreed to leave.”

Stiles is moaning loudly now, rocking his hips into Derek’s hand with a desperation that implies he’s close, so Derek quickens his pace, flicking his wrist the way Stiles likes in order to bring him over the edge. As Stiles comes, Derek reaches down between his own legs, grabbing his own dick and bringing himself off in only a few short strokes.

Derek climbs out of bed, cleans them both up and helps Stiles get settled.

“They eventually live happily ever after though, right?” Stiles mumbles into the pillow.

Derek flicks off the light, curling up behind him and presses a kiss against the nape of Stiles’ neck. “Yeah, they do.”

* * *

69.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Allison  
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, Allison, who was due to be married. Her father was to throw a tourney in her honour, and all the most eligible men in the land would come and compete for her hand.

Allison visited the training ground, watching the men parry with swords and practise jousting. She wondered for a moment what it would be like to be under all that armour, a metal skin protecting her own. She sighed for a moment, and then moved on to the next lot of practising knights – the archers. The archery was Allison's favourite, she loved the swish-thunk of the arrows, the quiet precision that came with the sport.

When she was younger, before her duties started properly, Allison used to sneak out and join the archers. The head knight, a gruff man called Sir Derek would let her use his bow, occasionally offering a word of advice on her stance. Allison missed the times she could escape to spend time in the range, the quiet and the stoic presence of Derek beside her calming her, somehow lessening the suffocating confines of her duties and lessons.

Derek was there now, watching the knights practising.

“Your highness,” he murmured as she approached. The other contestants stopped and almost fell over themselves to bow before her.

“Please, carry on,” she said, feeling herself flush under the scrutiny. The men turned back, more determined than before.

“Are you competing, Sir Derek?” She asked softly, hoping the other knights were too lost in showing off to hear her.

“No, your highness.”

She swallowed, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You would beat these men,” she said softly.

“That's why I'm not competing.”

“You should.” Allison couldn't believe how forward she was being, but a life with Derek, the quiet strength by her side always, was something she wanted. And this was the only time she could reach out and grab it.

Derek looked down at her. She looked back at him, refusing to look away. He nodded at her, and she felt herself flush even more. She nodded and waved at the other knights and then went back to the castle.

 

***

 

Allison sent word for Derek to come to her room, after a long day of celebrating his victory. Derek raised an eyebrow as he realised she had sent her maids away.

Allison held her hand out to Derek. “If you don't want-” she offered, hesitantly. She wondered if Derek had only entered because she had asked, like it was an order.

Derek smiled and walked towards her, kissing her. Allison sighed into his mouth, gooseflesh rising at the scrape of his beard on her skin.

Allison ran her hands over Derek's rough shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath. Derek pulled away, smiling down at her.

“I didn't know if you meant it,” Derek said, “or if you just-”

Allison shook her head. “I meant it.”

Derek kissed her again, pulling her close. They moved to the bed, Allison's heart pounding as she reached to pull at Derek's shirt.

Soon, they were naked, skin sliding hotly against skin. Allison could feel Derek's hardness against her hip, and she reached out, heart pounding.

Derek groaned as she gripped him, and Allison stroked him, bolder. Derek gasped and reached out, cupping her breasts, thumb rubbing her nipples. She gasped, feeling herself becoming slick between her legs.

Allison pulled Derek down over her, so she could kiss him again. Derek slotted between her legs and the pressure of his erection against her made her shudder. Derek grinned and Allison groaned softly. He slid into her, hot and hard. Derek shifted and ran a hand down her stomach, until his fingers were touching where he was entering her. He circled his thumb and she cried out in surprise as pleasure shot up her spine.

She gripped at the muscles in his shoulders as he moved in her, slick and slow. She was shaking now, and Derek wasn't slowing down his ministrations. He kissed her wherever he could reach. Allison clenched her hands on Derek's slick skin as the pleasure started to become overwhelming. She cried out as it pulsated through her. Derek groaned and shuddered as he came, and everything became hotter and wetter.

They lay for a moment, panting. Derek rolled to her side with a groan, and Allison rolled onto her side, reaching out to touch Derek.

“Love you, princess,” He murmured into her hair.

* * *

70.

**Warnings:** N/A  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

One of Stiles’s favourite things about Derek had always been his abysmal sense of timing. His inability to pick the right moments to bring up serious things was downright astounding, and kind of endearing in its own weird way.

That’s why he could only smile, fond, when Derek said, “We should stop doing this” just as Stiles dropped to his knees in front of the bed to kneel between Derek’s splayed legs.

Derek’s obvious confusion and indignation at Stiles’ reaction made him laugh, and he leaned his head against Derek’s knee, huffing into the crook of it.

“Stiles.”

Stiles hummed and straightened up, keeping his hand to himself. He wasn’t going to do anything if Derek wanted to have this conversation now, of all times. Stiles was many things, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“And why should we?” Stiles said when Derek only looked at him, seemingly conflicted.

They had a booty call arrangement that neither of them could really explain or pinpoint the beginning of. It was a mutually beneficial fuck buddy kind of thing that had never evolved past some hurried fucks and blowjobs at opportune moments. It wasn’t something Stiles wanted to stop doing.

“We don’t…” Derek stopped and he looked so frustrated that Stiles wanted to laugh. “We don’t know anything about each other, Stiles.”

Stiles stilled, the warm presence of amusement all but gone.

“I didn’t realise you wanted that.”

Derek’s hand curled into a fist by his hip and he wouldn’t meet Stiles’s eyes. He shrugged.

“We do, though,” Stiles said. “We know each other plenty. I know more about you than you’re probably comfortable with, to be honest. You’d probably file a restraining order against me if you knew how much I actually know about you.”

Derek didn’t seem convinced by that at all.

“I know you keep trying to make things up to Isaac. I know you think about Boyd all the time.” He let one hand rest against Derek’s thigh. “I know your kinks.”

Derek looked at him then, eyebrow arched. “No, you don’t.”

“Of course I do, buddy.”

“No one knows. No one ever knows.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek really wasn’t as subtle as he thought.

“You want me to guess it? Your biggest kink?”

Derek snorted. “Sure. Go for it.”

“What do I get?” Stiles wet his lips. “To keep you?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, long-suffering.

It wasn’t a denial. Thankfully, Stiles was good at guessing (maybe because he never made any guesses without being tethered to some solid observation of fact). And it might just get him what he wanted.

Stiles looked at Derek, measuring, rubbing his hand in slow circles over Derek’s thigh. It was clear that Derek thought no one could ever find the thing that drove him to distraction – the one thing that got to him the most. It was really rather cute that he thought Stiles hadn’t noticed, as if Stiles hadn’t obsessively catalogued Derek for years.

He urged Derek up into the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress before Stiles settled between his legs. His hands ghosted over the swell of Derek’s hips, over the jut of his hipbones and came to rest at the base of his cock.

Stiles looked up at him, smirked, and said, “You look amazing, baby.”

As predicted, Derek tensed, every muscle in his body coiling tight.

“Ssh.” Stiles nuzzled against his thigh. “It’s okay, baby, I told you I knew.”

Stiles continued to murmur endearments into Derek’s skin until his muscles relaxed and his cock swelled rapidly. Stiles almost burst with pride, and hid his stupid grin against Derek’s cock. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base, humming softly.

He pulled back and licked a wet path along the length of him. “Hm. You like this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far – that sweetheart was just one stop too far into Sappyville: population them. But then Derek whimpered softly, and Stiles looked up to see his cheeks flushed red. Derek couldn’t stop moving under him, hips pressing up with little desperate hitches.

He swallowed Derek’s dick into his mouth and sucked until his jaw ached with it, his lips sore.

“Alright,” Derek said, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, as Stiles pulled away and wiped at the come on his own lips. “You can keep me.”

* * *

71.

**Warnings: implied character death of a minor character**  
 **Pairing:** Sheriff/Claudia

 

"This is impossible," he tries, fails, losing the words to the press of her lips.

Doesn't matter, it's the same in his head, a litany repeating over and over until she kisses him again and her hips move. Every thought scatters beyond his grasp and he lets them go, hands preferring the warm flesh of her back, impossibly alive, and the way her breath hitches when he kisses that spot beneath her ear.

It's impossible that she's here, impossible that she's flesh and blood above and around him, and it is, but it isn't. She's here, she's in his arms, and when he inhales it's the scent of her that fills him.

He makes himself pull away, looking up at her in the faint moonlight, and stares at her. He's begged every god under every heaven for just one more look at her for all these years and whatever devil has brought that plea to life, he'll pay their price gladly, because she's as beautiful as he remembers and her smile is worth what little remains of his soul.

That smile curves, grows wistful and wicked in equal measure, and she leans forward to kiss him. "Of course it is," she agrees, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it down his shoulders. "This is Beacon Hills; everything here is impossible."

She's right, she always is, and as much it doesn't make any sense, he doesn't care. Not when her fingers trace the line of his shoulders, tapping out a familiar rhythm (AC/DC, her favorite), leaving him no doubt that it's her. He _hates_ that song and she knows it.

"You're _gone_ ," he says, but catches handfuls of her hair and pulls her mouth to his.

"I was," she says, into the kiss, then her tongue meets his for one brief, mind-spinning moment, then she pulls back as much as he'll let her to add, "I'm back now." There's a desperation in the way she touches him, hands going between them to yank his belt free and then his zipper. She's as eager for him as he is her and it's that, more than anything, the way his name on her mouth is a magic no monster could ever copy.

She tips them onto their side and he catches the hint, rolling her, trapping her against the earth with his body. She laughs, kissing him, and he lets himself get lost in it. He's warm in a way he hasn't been since that night, since he'd walked in on Stiles sitting there with tear-stained cheeks, silent in a way no child should know, and maybe that makes him next on the menu, but he doesn't give a damn. Not right now. Not here. Not with her wrapping her legs around him, anchoring herself to the world, and her nails a welcome grit against his shoulders.

She looks at him, then past, and he sees the sigils etched into the trees. Stiles has been teaching him enough to not get killed and none of these are a warning. Claudia arches beneath him, breasts lush against his chest, and he looks back at her. "A ritual?"

"Part of it," she affirms, sighing as he slides into her. "A life for a life."

He stills where they're joined, fear sparking in him, and says, "Mine for yours?" It comes out cautious, but he knows what his reaction would be even if she did say yes. He's always known, even when he thought this wasn't possible, how far he would go to have her back.

She snorts a laugh, making him grin, and shakes her head. "No." Her hips cant, teasing, and he answers with a thrust that makes her moan. She licks her lips and he kisses her. They lose time that way, trading kisses to match the movement of their bodies, then she manages to say, "Gerard's."

He thinks about that, about the blood on the man's hands, and of all the lives that can never be restored. He doesn't know why her, why now, or why at all, but remembers what happened when he didn't believe. He's remembered and carried that empty and hollow feeling with him every day and every night since.

He has a miracle in his arms and he's not giving it back. He presses his face against her neck and loses himself in the feel of her.

Sometimes, however rare, you do get a happy ending.

* * *

72.

**Warnings:** Somnophilia with consent, voyeurism (sort of), mild dubcon  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

It wasn’t that Derek could honestly say he ever expected to be the one rescuing a prince from eternal slumber, but even he had never pictured it happening with his hand jammed down the front of a sleeping royal’s breeches, while from behind a bush, a magical fox snapped, “My body is literally steps from death, Derek, can we hurry up?”

Maybe he’d thought the prince’s eyes would flutter at the first press of Derek’s lips, like in the fairy tales, but no--Prince Stiles’s human body remained stubbornly asleep, even when Derek tried using a bit of tongue.

What that didn’t work, he’d pulled away to find Stiles--the one trapped in a fox’s body, that is--glaring at him, expression unimpressed. After weeks searching the kingdom for Stiles’s human form, which had been cursed to sleep forever until roused by his one true love, Derek had learned to decipher the surprising number of expressions fox-Stiles could make. All of them were sarcastic. It was a marvel Derek hadn’t bunted him off a cliff after the first day. Instead, he’d somehow gone and fallen in love with the little twerp.

“You done?” Stiles drawled. “A for effort, really, but I told you it wouldn’t be that simple. This isn’t some amateur ‘true love’s kiss’ bullshit.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with this.” Glancing between the sleeping body of the prince, who looked hauntingly beautiful even despite the ice-cold pallor of his skin, and Stiles in his fox form, Derek had frowned. “You can’t tell me you feel comfortable with me jerking you off while you’re while you’re standing right there. It’s weird.”

“I’d feel a lot more uncomfortable being a fox for the rest of my life,” Stiles answered blandly. Which was kind of the point. “So hurry up and devirginize my body already. I’ve got an evil wizard to usurp. This kingdom isn’t gonna save itself.”

Fast forward ten minutes or so, and Stiles was behind a bush providing unhelpful commentary while Derek proceeded to deliver the most awkward handjob in the history of time. Not that he didn’t love Stiles, but he really would’ve preferred him to be awake and human the first time they had sex.

With his hand closed around Stiles’s quiescent shaft, Derek gave an experimental stroke, glancing at the sleeping young man’s face as he did. Surprisingly--and it startled him enough that he almost jerked his hand back in shock--the cock twitched and began to harden within the circle of his fingers.

“I’m asleep, not dead,” fox-Stiles offered when Derek paused in confusion. “Keep going.”

“Can you please not talk?” Derek snapped back, voice strangled.

He heard Stiles snort. “Hey, this is at least ask awkward for me as it is for you. I’d really hoped I would at least have opposable thumbs the first time we had sex.”

“You’ve thought about us having sex?” Derek asked after a moment, even as he willed his hand to continue stroking the sleeping Stiles’s cock, growing firmer by the moment. He realized his mouth had gone dry. Easiest not to overthink it.

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles said softly. “I mean… Derek. You’re--of course I have.”

“Tell me,” Derek said, and Stiles proceeded to do just that, murmuring about how badly he wanted to put his mouth on Derek’s body, feel Derek inside him, making him come over and over. Several times, Derek lost the rhythm of his stroking hand and had to wrap his fingers around the suddenly aching erection in his pants.

The only warning he got that his efforts were paying off was when the sleeping prince’s mouth opened on a soft gasp, and a moment later, Derek felt Stiles’s cock jerk and spurt come over his knuckles. It was viscous and hot, not cold at all. Derek made a noise that felt like it’d been punched out of him.

He asked, hesitantly, “Stiles?” but the answer came not from the bushes, but from the young man in the glass casket in front of him, who moaned quietly and seized up like he’d been electrocuted. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open and met Derek’s startled gaze. Unmindful of his sticky hand, Derek rushed to help him up, catching Stiles’s elbow as he swayed.

Stiles buried his face against Derek’s shoulder. “Ugh, that was embarrassingly fast,” he eventually croaked.

“We have time to do it again,” Derek suggested. Cautiously, he petted Stiles’s hair. “You know, after we save the world and live happily ever after.”

* * *

73.

**Warnings:** mild somnophilia (someone waking someone up with sex things in an established relationship).  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 

"Derek?" Stiles burrowed his face deeper into Derek's side, worn cotton soft and warm against his cheek. "You awake?"

No response.

Stiles raised his head, blinking warily at the sunlight. Today was Sunday, they had no reasons to leave bed, he wasn't going to waste it sleeping.

He ran his hand over the dark spot on Derek's t-shirt where he'd slept, and Derek didn't even flinch. The first few years they were together Derek would be constantly on edge. But not anymore.

"Derek..." Stiles ran a hand up Derek's chest, rising and falling steadily under his palm. Derek wasn't the most graceful sleeper in the world, limbs thrown everywhere, mouth open, gentle snores mingling with the morning birdsong.

"C'mon sleeping beauty, time to wake up..." Stiles cupped Derek's cheek, rubbing his thumb over his stubble.

"Derek!" He jabbed a finger roughly into Derek's side.

Nothing. He didn't even flinch.

"Is this your way of trying to get a good morning blowjob? Cause let me tell you, it's probably going to work." Derek snuffled, licked his lips and shifted on the bed.

Stiles lifted the blankets over his head, hummed the Indiana Jones theme song as he crawled down, settled between Derek's legs. Even in sleep they parted easily for him, Derek unconsciously recognising him. It made Stiles's heart do the weird fluttery thing.

He loved being under the blankets, the smell of Derek and him was everywhere under here, if this was what Derek could smell all the time, no wonder Derek was always sniffing him.

Stiles ran blunt nails up Derek's thighs, lightly scritching through the hair there.

A quick tug had Derek's boxers (thin old cotton ones Stiles was sure he told him to throw out) down far enough that Stiles could free his cock.

Derek's cock wasn't completely soft, already reacting to Stiles being there it'd fattened up a little. Stiles nuzzled into the coarse hair where dick met body, breathing in the smell that was pure Derek, feeling Derek's grow harder against his cheek.

Sliding forward Stiles slipped his arms under and over Derek's legs, letting his thighs rest in the crook of Stiles's elbow, his legs dangled over the edge of the bed. He was settling in for a long, slow blowjob-- his favourite kind.

When Derek was awake he always rushed them, never let Stiles take the time he wanted to worshiping Derek's dick.

By the time he finally, finally moved to Derek's cockhead, his lips smeared in the precome dribbling down, Stiles wet his lips in them before sucking Derek's cock in slowly.

Above him Derek was moving restlessly, gentle snore gone, replaced with breathy moans. He kept going, giving it everything he had, delighting in the weight and taste of Derek's cock in his mouth.

Derek's hips started thrusting gently, just as a hand snuck into his hair, tugging on the short strands. Stiles sped up, and it took barely anything before Derek was shooting down Stiles's throat, bitter strings of spunk landing on his tongue.

He tucked Derek back in, wasting no time before he crawled up, blinking at the bright morning light as the fresh air hit his face.

"So sleeping beauty awakens! Roused by the kiss of his one true love!" Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Stiles couldn't keep the grin from his voice, this was only the start of their lazy Sunday.

"I don't think that counts as a kiss," Derek said, corners of his mouth curved up in the hint of a smile, his arm still thrown across his eyes. His voice was rough with sleep and orgasm and Stiles loved him.

"No?" Stiles faux-deliberated. "You seem to be awake, so I believe it does..."

"Get up here." Derek reached down to pull Stiles up, kissing him lazily, licking every part of the taste of himself out of Stiles' mouth.

"So, if I'm sleeping beauty, what does that make you?"

Stiles grinned down at Derek, looked at the flecks of grey at his temples, the slight crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He got to have all of this, he got to wake up to sunny Sundays and morning breath kisses, lazily traded while birds sung outside.  
"I'm your Prince Charming, of course."

Derek rolled his eyes, but leaned in for another kiss.

His life had always felt like a movie, from family tragedy, to supernatural horror, and now he was stuck on some sort of weird Disney shit. He wasn't complaining.

* * *

74.

**Warnings:** none  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

Once upon a time there was an idiot who worked with androids and played with stuff he didn't understand…

Stiles stared at the paper he'd _borrowed_ from Deucalion's desk that morning. It was yellowed with age, wrinkled from being handled too much. The hand-written code wasn't even in English, or any other language Stiles recognized. The syntax was complex, more so than anything Stiles had ever seen.

Whatever was going on with Deucalion's pet project, it was worlds beyond what he was sharing at team meetings.

"Derek, _on_ ," Stiles said.

Across the room, Derek whizzed to life, his eyes flashing blue. "Good morning, Stiles."

"Morning, big guy." Stiles smiled, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

Derek's constant, comforting presence was pathetically the best thing in Stiles life at the moment. He was a beautifully built android, stunning to look at, but Stiles always found it hard to meet those soulless eyes.

He stroked Derek's cold cheek and the android's blank expression didn't waver.

Stiles sighed. "Let's give this upgrade a try."

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt off axis. As he typed into the control panel at the back of Derek's neck, the strange syntax became hypnotic, flowing from him in waves, like the swell of a tide, rising to meet the moon. Instinctive. Primal.

It wasn't until a spark bit at his fingers as he submitted the upgrade that he seemed to gain control of himself again.

"What the--"

"Wish-fulfillment protocol initiated," Derek said and stripped off his shirt.

Stiles gaped at the well-defined abs, the perfect, human-like skin. "Deucalion, you dirty dog."

 

Derek's hands, surprisingly warm, gripped Stiles' waist. An android's hands were never _warm_ ; Stiles worried he was malfunctioning.

"Feedback analysis now operational." Despite the strangeness of the words, Derek's cadence sounded almost human.

"Feedback? I haven't provided any feedback."

Derek grinned, placing a hand on Stiles' chest. "Your heart rate has increased. Your pupils have dilated. Your scent..."

Derek nuzzled Stiles' neck, inhaling, though androids had no need for oxygen, no olfactory sensors -- yet Derek hummed like he was pleased.

Stiles felt himself responding helplessly to the attention -- too many nights he'd dreamed of this.

Derek's _impossibly_ warm hands stroked his cheek. "You provide feedback. And I form an appropriate -- a human -- response." Derek brushed his lips against Stiles'. "And then I provide the feedback."

Derek led Stiles' hand down to feel his hard cock.

"Jesus," Stiles breathed.

"Now you're mirroring it," Derek stated, his nostrils flaring as he moved both their hands from one crotch to the other. His fingers curled around Stiles' stiffening dick. "You like that I am reacting to you, so I am."

"Shit." Stiles shivered.

Derek shivered in response.

"What do you wish for?" Derek asked, stroking the length of Stiles' cock.

"I want--" Stiles huffed, frustrated. He leaned in and kissed Derek again, wishing this were real. Their kiss deepened and Stiles whimpered, wishing Derek was human -- alive, and not some fucktoy pieced together with sketchy lines of code.

It was what he ached for every morning as his dreams faded away, and it was wrong, so fucking wrong.

He rutted up against Derek, guilt simmering in his belly as Derek moaned in return. He wondered if Derek was mirroring Stiles' desire because of some pleasure feedback loop in his programming, or he was just reacting to the friction.

"What is your wish, Stiles?"

Gripping Derek's ass, Stiles pulled him closer and rolled his hips. He buried his guilt and chased his completion. He had one wish, one impossible wish that he wasn't stupid enough to voice, yet he screamed it in his mind as he came.

The lights flickered and Stiles, still dazed with his orgasm, looked to the window to check for a storm. The midday sun was shining.

"Thank you," Derek whispered, kissing him gently.

Stiles blinked in confusion; Derek's face was different. His mouth was less controlled, softer, and his eyes watery with emotion. There was a stiff, false look that went hand-in-hand with androids; Derek had none of that any longer.

Reaching up, Stiles wiped a tear spilling down Derek's cheek. "What just happened?"

"You wished."

"You can't be. That's not--" His eyes flickered to the code he'd entered, remembering the strange, unnatural fog that had overcome him as he'd typed words he hadn't understood. Voice shaking, he commanded, "Derek, _off_."

Derek smirked, saying simply, "No."

* * *

74B.  
 **Mod Note: This entry was missed by the Mod in the final compilation of the post. It was received on time and as to not completely bork the numbering after this it will be called 74B**

**Warnings:**  
 **Pairing:** Sterek

Once upon a time an evil witch came upon a pack of wolves. Now, these wolves were not ordinary wolves; no, these wolves were magic. They could transform themselves into men and used that power to protect other, but they could not protect themselves. The huntress cast an evil spell; she poured the richest silver into the hottest fire and cursed the pack so that on the full moon the wolf’s control would diminish, on the night of a full blood moon the transformation would separate the man from the wolf so that only the beast remained…  
  
“Derek, buddy, you gotta focus. Focus on my voice.”  
  
“Leave, Stiles!” Derek screamed, he stepped away until his back hit the wall. Through the window he could see the red around the moon, “Get away! I can’t control it.”  
  
“Dude, you totally can. You’re, like, the zen wolf.”  
  
Then Derek moved. Faster than Stiles could react, moving until it was Stiles against the wall with his feet dangling in the air. Derek’s eyes, silver instead of blue, glowed in the crimson dark and he leaned close. “I can’t control it on the blood moon. The wolf takes over.”  
  
Stiles swallowed, shivered when Derek’s claws raked up and over his ribs. “And what does the wolf want?”  
  
Derek looked up, his eyes flickered blue then Stiles watched the silver shimmer back and Derek’s teeth lengthen. “You.”  
  
“Then have me,” Stiles whispered, leaned forward and brushed a kiss over Derek’s lips, “I trust you, Derek.” He kissed him again, “Man. Wolf. You.”  
  
Derek pushed him harder against the wall and he felt Derek’s breath hot against his skin, and he tried not to groan as the pain cut into his back and as fear tightened his belly. Trust, he thought.  
  
“It’s a curse,” he whispered.  
  
“Then how do we break it?” Stiles asked and ran his hands up Derek’s arms, cupped his face until Derek’s eyes met his, “What do we do?”  
  
“We can’t.” And Stiles fell, his ass hitting the ground and Derek backing away quickly.  
  
“We can,” Stiles argued. He followed, slid to his knees at Derek’s feet and pulled down; he hooked his fingers through Derek’s belt loops and tugged until other man sank down to meet him. “One thing Disney has taught me, Grumpy Wolf, is that there is always a way to break evil curses.”  
  
He watched as Derek shifted from beast to man, then pushed forward. One hand fisted in Derek’s hair and the other gripped around Derek’s neck. He kissed, pulled until Derek braced a hand out and lowered them to the ground. Lips slid and teeth bit, Stiles rolled his body and Derek growled in response.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek whispered even as he clawed at Stiles’ shirt.  
  
“You never could,” Stiles whispered, his voice catching when Derek’s tongue followed the wake of his shirt. Derek sighed against him, rolled his shoulders into Stiles’ touch and paused before licking his way into Stiles’s mouth. He nipped at his lips and grappled at the button of his jeans.  
  
Stiles groaned, his fingers finally found the edge of Derek’s shirt and he pulled. It was slow, and fast, one minute he was clothed, the next Derek was covering his skin with bites and kisses. One minute his hands were sruggling with cloth, the next he found smooth muscle beneath his touch. He whispered promises as Derek teased him, he whimpered Derek’s name when Derek licked the line of his cock and circled the head.  
  
“Please,” he begged, then Derek drew him up in a single motion. They moved, like they had done this a thousand times; Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, tightened his arms around Derek’s neck. He gasped as Derek slowly slid into him. They both stilled, adjusting, then began to move together. His belly tightened when Derek sped up, his toes curled and his fingers found Derek’s. He felt the thrill of the orgasm work its way through him until his body was shaking with want.

He whispered Derek’s name as he came, then felt the flash of electricity when Derek’s own orgasm gripped him.  
  
Stiles lifted his head and ran a hand over Derek’s chest and smiled, “See? No wolf. No curse.”  
  
Derek looked outside, tightened his arm around Stiles and saw the red of the moon pulsing in the sky, “Maybe you broke curse.”  
  
“Maybe we broke it,” Stiles said, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder.

* * *

74C  
 **Mod Note: This entry was missed by the Mod in the final compilation of the post. It was recieved on time and as to not completely bork the numbering after this it will be called 74C**

**Warnings:** Absolute Crack. Mentions of Knotting and Hounding. I'm sorry for any offense to your childhood.  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Derek

**Werewolves with Knots**  
  
Stiles,  
Do you like  
Werewolves with Knots?  
  
I do not like,  
Werewolves with Knots  
I do not like them,  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Would you fuck one  
Here or there?  
  
I wouldn’t fuck one  
Here or there.  
I won’t fuck one  
Anywhere.  
I do not like  
Werewolves with Knots  
I do not like them  
Mr “I-call-the-shots”  
  
Would you fuck one,  
For a house?  
Would you fuck one,  
That read you Faust?  
  
I would not fuck one  
For a house.  
I would not fuck one  
That read me Faust.  
I wouldn’t fuck one  
Here or there.  
I won’t fuck one  
Anywhere.  
I don’t fuck Werewolves with Knots  
I don’t like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Would you fuck one  
That owns stocks?  
Would you fuck one  
That’s a fox?  
  
Not for stocks.  
Not even a fox.  
Not for a house.  
Not for Faust.  
I wouldn’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
I don’t fuck Shifters with Knots.  
I don’t like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Would you, could you?  
For a car?  
Fuck one, fuck one!  
There’s a bar!  
  
I would not,  
Could not,  
For a car.  
  
You may like one,  
You will see.  
You may like one,  
And “make love” by the sea.  
  
I would not, could not, by the sea.  
Not for a car! You leave me be!  
  
I do not want one that owns stocks.  
I do not want one, not even a fox.  
I do not want one to build me a house.  
I do not want one to read me Faust.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
I do not like Shifters with Knots.  
I do not like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
An orgy… An orgy?  
An orgy. An orgy!?  
Could you, would you,  
In an orgy?  
  
Not in an orgy! Not by the sea!  
No for a car! Derek! Leave me be!  
  
I would not, could not, because of stocks.  
I would not, could not, even a fox.  
I will not fuck one that reads me Faust.  
I will not fuck one for a house.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
I don’t fuck Shifters with Knots  
I do not like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
 **OK!**  
In the dark?  
If it were dark.  
Would you, could you, in the dark?  
  
I would not, could not  
in the dark.  
  
Would you, could you  
with the Banshee?  
  
I would not, could not, with our Banshee.  
Not in the dark. Not in an orgy.  
Not for a car. Not by the sea.  
I do not like them, Derek, you see.  
Not for a house, not for Faust.  
Not for stocks, not even a fox.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
  
You don’t like  
Shifters with Knots?  
  
I do not  
Like them  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Could you, would you,  
For the pack?  
  
I would not,  
Could not,  
For the pack.  
  
You couldn’t? You wouldn’t?  
Is that a fact?  
  
I could not, would not, for the pack.  
I will not, will not, that’s a fact.  
I will not fuck one with our Banshee.  
I will not fuck one in an orgy.  
Not in the dark! Not by the sea!  
Not for a car! You leave me be!  
I don’t fuck them for their stocks.  
I will not fuck one that’s a fox.  
I will not fuck one for a house.  
I will not love one just for Faust.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one **ANYWHERE**!  
  
I do not like  
Shifters  
with Knots  
  
I do not like them,  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
You do not like them,  
So you say.  
Just fuck one, fuck one,  
And you may.  
Fuck _**me** _ and you may, I say!  
  
Derek!  
If you’ll let me be  
I’ll fuck you  
Maybe then you’ll--  
  
… **!!!**  
  
Oh! _Hnnnng_!!!  
I _love_ Shifters with Knots!  
I do! Harder, _harder_! Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
I would fuck you _in front of the pack_!  
I would fuck you, that’s a fact.  
I would fuck you with our Banshee,  
In the dark, In an orgy!  
For a car, and by the sea!  
It feels so damn _good_ you see!  
  
I won’t fuck one for their stocks.  
I won’t fuck one that’s a fox.  
But I’ll fuck **you** for a house.  
I’ll fuck you for reading me Faust.  
I’ll fuck you here and there.  
I’ll fuck you anywhere!  
  
I do so love  
Werewolves with Knots.  
Thank you!  
 _Thank you!_  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”!

 

* * *

74D  
 **Mod Note: This entry was missed by the Mod last night in the final compilation of the post. It was received on time and as to not completely bork the numbering after this it will be called 74B**

**Warnings: oral sex** **Pairing:** Scott/Lydia 

1.

When Lydia comes, she always flops around on the bed like a fish. She doesn’t usually turn into a fish--half a fish. Her legs have turned into a finn, anyway. Scott hasn’t quite processed it. He’s just staring at her, mouth agape and still slick with his spit and her juices. Lydia doesn’t appreciate that.

“Well,” she says, pushing herself on her elbows, and flipping her hair back, “don’t just lay there, get me a bottle of water.”

2.

Lydia’s legs come back when Scott is carrying her into Deaton’s. She drops her water bottle, Scott trips over it, and werewolf powers or not, they go tumbling into a heap right before they get to the mountain ash barrier. Lydia’s naked from the waist down. Scott doesn’t know whether he should cover her or not, but he doesn’t have to wonder, much, with Lydia. She’s already working at the buttons of his flannel. It fits her like a dress.

He never remembers how short she is until she’s barefoot. It always seems like she’s taller than everyone, towering around on her heels and staring down her nose at the peasants even though the top of her ponytail reaches somewhere in the region of his chin. Kind of like she’s doing now. It’s probably a defense mechanism. Either that or she actually plans to kill him.

3.

Deaton’s advice is not very helpful. “It’s not a curse,” he tells them. “These are powers you were born with, manifesting now that you’ve come into the age of your true inheritance.”

“Inheritance?” Lydia says, in the way she does where she pronounces all of the syllables really carefully, kind of like she’s verbally flipping her hair.

“You’re a mermaid princess.”

Lydia gapes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Scott rubs soothing circles on her back. “I should’ve known,” he jokes weakly, “because you have red hair.” Lydia leans back into his touch, and only rolls her eyes a little, so he counts that one as a win.

“Well,” she says eventually, “what do you suggest I do about this?”

“Have you ever heard the story of the little mermaid?”

“The one where I have to give my voice to the sea witch, or the one where I collapse into seafoam and die in the waves?”

“The one where you get the king’s blessing to stay on land and live permanently as a human.”

Scott rubs Lydia’s back some more. She rolls her eyes again.

4\. 

They took Scott’s bike to the coast so Lydia could have access to the ocean. The beach isn’t as private as it could be, but he goes down on her in the sunset anyway. She clings to her hair and whispers his name when she comes apart. She has fins instead of legs again. 

“Be careful,” Scott says, as the waves come to wash her into the sea. Lydia takes his face in both hands and kisses him. He’s never seen her face look like that before: wistful, a little sad, but mostly determined.

5\. 

Scott wakes up to wet hair on his neck and a face buried into his shoulder. “Lydia? What happened?”

She crosses her arms over his chest and props her head up on them. “It’s okay,” she says. “I told him I had someone worth living on land for.”


	4. Group D: With Warnings and Pairings

75.

**Warnings: None?**   
**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**

 

* * *

76\. 

**Warnings: None**   
**Pairing: Allison/Lydia**

**Red Riding Hood and the Huntress**

 

77.

**Warnings: um...copious amounts of pixie dust?**  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

* * *

78.

**Pairing:** Sterek

* * *

79.

**Warnings:** NSFW  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

* * *

80.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Allison/Scott

[](http://i.imgur.com/oVhbeZk.jpg)

* * *

81.

**Warnings:** Suggestive themes, foot-fetish  
 **Pairing:** Derek Hale / someone who shaved their legs

Wasn't Cinderella about a mad bout of chase for just the right foot though?

* * *

82.

Pairing: Allydia  
Title: Sleeping Beauty

* * *

83.

**Warnings:** somnophilia  
 **Pairing:** sterek

* * *

84.

**Warnings: Interspecies**   
**Pairing: Derek/Merman!Stiles**   
_Out of the sea_  
Wish I could be  
Part of your world   


* * *

85\. 

**Warnings:** explicit, NSFW  
 **Pairing:** Danny/Ethan

* * *

86.

**Warnings: nakedness?**   
**Pairing: Derek/Stiles**   


* * *

87.

**Warnings:** Nudity, Size difference, Overly perky fairies  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/Any Male


	5. Group A: No Warnings or Pairings

1\. 

Derek can hear chattering from outside the house already by his kids he could imagine Stiles holding their 4 year old daughter Danielle who act so much like him on the lot of talking and asking but luckily that is Stiles department so he doesn’t worry followed by Damien listening quietly and he definitely remind him a lot like him.

People might ask how exactly they meet, well they probably meet in unorthodox way but he like to think it’s fate.

Derek took back his memory back 10 years ago, at the beach probably his favorite place he like to think the wave and the view of the beach always calm him down he can drown on that feeling but that certain day is something he can’t forget….

Stiles know his kind but he always considered himself just a fragile human but when he’s in the water he feel more alive and powerful and so exhilarating, beach always be his sanctuary the great thing about being a merman as the books say that people won’t notice his fin as they can’t see the unless he want them to be reveal so he doesn’t worry if there’s a lot of people at the beach and it just nice to connecting with the sea creatures it’s like he’s apart of them.

He just takes his usual stroll in the water when he see this particular guy caught his eyes, his mother used to say “our kind have a soul mate they could be our kind or they could be from another kind so not all of them know it but when they find you they will know and they can feel it and the rest just come naturally”

He never really believe it as he grow older he likes to think it just a myth or fairy tale but as he saw the person that might be no definitely his soul mate he know this is real but could the other guy felt it?

Just when he think it couldn’t be, Stiles feel the guy gaze at him and he suddenly feel his heart skip a beat and he need to be closer so he swim closer to the edge and the guy comes closer to without realizing and the distance is just a feet between land and water and it shows how different they are but just the same as the guy look over in the water he knew he let his true color shows and he’s not even afraid he feel he can tell anything and they not even saying anything to each at all.  
The guy look up at him and there a fondness in his face and it just meant for him, “I’m Derek” the guy finally said and Stiles snap out from his thought, “Uh, I’m Stiles as you can tell that’s not my real name like a nickname but if you know my real name it’s so hard to pronounce and I think you will know why when I told you but that would waste your time-“

Of course he just give that gorgeous smile like who would not in love with that bunny teeth smile like he actually bubbling with happiness inside.  
And you could say the rest is history, others may have to get to know like weeks, months, years to get to know each other but we take just few days we knew we meant for each other than obvious reason we just falling deeper to each other, each good, bad, everything we take it all and I couldn’t say I regret it and we all live happily ever after  
Danielle whine, “No, there is no fight like sea monster and stuff, like daddy like woosh go away monster!” Stiles chuckles at his daughter antics as he pull her closer with Derek on his side and Damien on Derek side, “Well, in our story such thing doesn’t happen but what is important in the end we have two beautiful kids that need a sleep okay” Stiles said as he tap her nose and she nods in defeat and with a yawn, “Kay Papa….”  
Stiles look over Derek as they stared at each other and they could say they still in love with each other even after all this years.  
“I love you” Derek said without hesitation, Stiles smile wide, “love you too dude”  
Derek just roll his eyes but smile with fond, “Don’t call me dude, honey bun”

* * *

2.

Finally, the circus that was their wedding day culminated in orgasms.

He managed enough breath to pant out, “Did you ever expect we’d ever end up here? This way?”

Chris just looked down his nose at him and raised an eyebrow. Pft, that haughty act wasn't going to cow him. His belly was covered in Chris’ semen, not to mention who was leaking to form the wet spot.

Chris sighed heavily, jostling him from Chris’ warm stomach skin. Ugh, touching the cold sweat and colder skin of his sides — he scootched down enough to push up and kneel between Chris’ legs.

“Well, I suspected we would have sex in a bed at some point in our relationship,” Chris snarked.

Chris was already returning to a resting state, his breath evening out. That fucker’s general health and fitness level? Totally unfair. That deserved to be repeated out loud.

“Well, I see where Stiles gets it from; I was sure that bratty behavior was inherited from his mom.”

He couldn't help but laugh loudly at that, and informed Chris, “I don’t know why everyone thinks that; how could I keep up with him at all if we weren't alike?”

Chris chuckled brightly. He rubbed at his face hard and sighed into his palms. Chris leveled a look down, trying to keep up the patrician act. Whatever, he knew better, he’d seen what Chris’ face looked like during an orgasm.

“Oh I have a type. And here I thought I was going for a mild, unassuming partner at last.”

Couldn't help it, he snorted loudly at that and waved away Chris’ words.

“What on earth would you do with that sort of sedate . . . lifestyle? Besides going nuts?”

Chris just hummed thoughtfully in response and smiled placidly down at him. That jackass was totally playacting, the twinkle of his eyes gave it away.

‘Well, two can play at that game,’ and deliberately let that thought bloom across his face as he leant forward, left hand steadying him on the side of the bed, the right brushing against his soft cock, and grinned at the spasm he felt.

Chris’ breathing had started to speed up and Chris had lost the Mona Lisa smile and now just looked hungry. Intent. He climbed up Chris slowly and very pointedly planted his legs on either side of Chris and just waited to see if Chris was game. Chris made and held eye contact — and nodded.

Immediately he reached out and tweaked Chris’ nipples at the same time he rolled his hips against Chris’ and rubbed their cocks together. Fuck, that was good, like a live wire, he flinched so hard against the sharp pain that was too much pleasure.

What was even better was letting go and sitting back, watching Chris’ face contort in that same pain/pleasure, his face screwed up with tears and open mouthed gasping. He watched Chris blink open his eyes and simmer down.

Chris croaked, “Why do my nipples get tweaked? Especially after today, that was too much.”

“. . .Honestly didn't think you’d want to use a Wartenberg wheel on me during sex, considering your profession and stamina. Can we table the S&M discussion and finish. . ?”

Chris looked thoughtful, but replied, “Sure,” so he leant forward and grabbed Chris’ shoulders, ground down, and rocked them toward a dry orgasm.

Chris broke first, slapping him away, so he sat back and rubbed himself to a finish while Chris shuddered and cried with the over-stimulation. He let Chris pull himself together, while he fetched a steamy washcloth.

He wiped them down while Chris lay panting. He threw the washcloth into the red laundry basket provided and flopped onto the couch, watched Chris finally take in the room.

“Why the hell did we let Stiles be the wedding planner? This is tacky.”

“Well, I have a note addressed to us in Stiles’ handwriting, want to see?”

Chris looked at him evenly, so he picked up the envelope and climbed onto the bed, nestling into Chris’ side.

The note read: To our Dads,

We wanted to say thank you for everything, and to pay you back for the last few years, we felt you deserved the fairytale wedding complete with everything humane, no doves.

Thank you for being our real dads — Isaac

Thank you for helping us with the pack: Scott.

The super chintzy is so you won't forget any of it! ;)

Love, us.

* * *

3.

Fear and loathing have Isaac fleeing the only home he’s known. Mean fists and mad hands left black and purple marks on his skin. Words though, sharper than anything, have him running through the rain towards the forest. Lightning strikes across the sky followed by the heavens bellowing thunder. 

Sitting down under a tree he shivers, tremors making every part of him quake. 

He’s free now though. Turning his face to the sky, he laughs and water drips down his throat. 

The rain calms until it’s a fine mist. He gets up and moves, limbs stiff and sore from more than sitting but he shakes it off and walks deeper into the woods. He needs shelter. 

***

The manor Isaac happens upon before the sun rises looks dark and deserted. He shoves his shoulder into the door and it creaks loudly on rusty hinges. Freezing, he waits for noise from the house beyond. When nothing stirs, he walks in quietly. Exhaustion weighs him down, pulling him onto the nearest flat surface. 

He dreams of a woman. She walks by him with all of her skin on display. And in her shadow, an animal slinks along. 

***

Days pass and the house seems to welcome him. The bowl of apples that appeared during the night are welcome to his hunger. Crunching down on the fruit, he walks through the halls until he comes upon a gallery of portraits. Heavy curtains hang over them, obscuring their surfaces. He looks around because he’s had an odd feeling that someone is peering out of the shadows at him. 

Lifting a corner, he tries to catch a glimpse. A growl echoes through the hallway. The hair on his arms stands up and he freezes. Gulping, he turns his head slightly. He catches a glimpse of a dark tail turning around a corner.

He doesn’t give chase.

***

The dreams don’t stop. 

“You can touch me,” she whispers.

Words catch on his tongue and disappear. 

He wakes hard and lonely. 

***

Hunger drives him to hunt in the woods. The feeling of being watched follows him everywhere now. The light of day makes him less leery and he calls out. 

“You can come out.”

The dream creature peers out from behind a tree. 

They watch each other until she turns and sinks back into the shadows.

Isaac doesn’t hunt any more that day.

***

He dreams of her again. The beast sits idly by with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth.

“She’s mine. I’m hers,” the woman says. 

 

***

The gallery hall looms large in front of him. He has to know if he’s dreaming of a ghost. He whips the covering from the frame. Allison Argent it says below the face he’s been expecting to see. 

***

He sleeps more than he should hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Now though the beast lays by him. Her hair is soft under his hand. 

“I wish she were here.”

The beast whines softly. Isaac closes his eyes and waits for sleep to claim him again. 

***

“I wish you were real.”

“For you, I am,” she whispers. 

He lies her back and her hair falls around her shoulders barely covering her breasts. He wants to take days discovering every inch of her, but their world is fleeting. Peeling his shirt off, he lies down by her. He trails a finger down from her collarbone to between her breasts and rests his palm on her stomach. Spreading his fingers out wide, he relishes in the contrast in their skin. She, so soft; he, so calloused and worn. He tries not to tremble when he reaches down and feels her wetness. Soon she pulls at him, willing him closer. Looking into her eyes, he sinks into her. It’s heaven, it’s heavenly. It’s the closest thing to love he'll ever have and longs for her to be with him when his eyes are open. 

“Isaac.”

After, he watches her sleep. 

The beast is nowhere to be seen. 

***

He wakes and he’s not alone. Acres of creamy white skin lie beside him and he wonders if he’s finally gone mad with longing. 

“You’re not crazy,” she says smiling up at him. “You broke the spell.”

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.” She pulls him down for a kiss.

….and they lived happily ever after.

* * *

4.

"And he's just beyond this door?" Scott asked the old man standing in front of him. He'd been searching for two months and could hardly believe he'd finally found what he was looking for.

The old man nodded and turned the key, opening the door and stepping aside to let Scott in. "I will leave you alone with him." He put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "I am truly sorry." And with that, the old man was gone.

Scott stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. There were torches along the wall, providing just enough light to make out someone lying on the bed on the other side of the room. Scott walked slowly toward it, bracing himself for anything.

He almost stumbled when he saw Isaac's face. It was still and peaceful, like he was sleeping. The old man explained that they found Isaac in the woods, unconscious but still alive. Their best minds spent weeks trying to wake him up, but nothing worked. He told Scott they suspected dark magic, but they had never been able to determine the source or how to undo it.

Scott reached down and brushed his finger across Isaac's cheek. "Why couldn't you have just waited for me to go with you?" he asked. They were to spend a week at their manor in the country. Scott was held up at Cout and Isaac had left before he made it home.

"They said they've tried everything," Scott said, grinning as a thought popped into his head. "There is one thing they don't have that always works though, isn't there?" His grin widened as he leaned over and kissed Isaac. The feeling of Isaac's lips pressed against his own caused a stirring that gave him even more reason to hope Isaac would wake up.

Scott stood up, looking down at Isaac with a frown. "Guess that does only work in fairy tales." He looked Isaac up and down, hoping for any sign of movement and stopped when his eyes were around Isaac's waist. He laughed, for lack of any better reaction. "Well, it looks like maybe that brought some part of you to life, huh?"

Scott looked back at the door for a moment and then pulled the sheet covering Isaac off of the bed. He found it curious that Isaac was naked under it, though any questions drifted away as quickly as they came to mind. His eyes wandered from Isaac's neck to his chest and stomach - this beautiful man that he loved and had missed for so long. "Maybe if I--" He stopped himself and shook his head. "No, that can't-- But it's worth a try, isn't it?"

Glancing back at the door once more, Scott knelt next to the bed and planted a kiss just above Isaac's waist. "I've missed you," he whispered before he opened his mouth and slid his lips around Isaac's cock. It felt right having Isaac inside of him again like that. He slowly worked his way down until he'd taken all of Isaac and could feel him in the back of his throat. He let out a quiet moan against Isaac's cock and was surprised when he felt Isaac's body tense. What followed was a much louder groan from Isaac as his hips bucked upward and he unloaded into Scott's mouth. Scott stayed there until Isaac was done, partly due to his own surprise and also because he didn't want to explain any mess when the old man returned.

When Isaac stopped, Scott pulled himself back up to his feet. Isaac was looking up at him, smiling brightly. "Sorry I didn't last very long. It's been a while."

"Isaac, god, are you okay?" Scott reached out his arms toward him but quickly pulled them back. He didn't want to do anything that might hurt him.

Isaac pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Fine. Very well-rested I'd guess. But fine."

Scott dropped down next to him on the bed and wrapped his arms around him. "What ha--"

"Shh," Isaac interrupted, putting a finger to his lips. "Time for all of that later. Right now, I just want to thank you for figuring out how to wake me."

Scott shrugged as he lay on the bed, pulling Isaac with him. "Just had to figure out the real meaning of 'true love's kiss' and the rest was easy."

And from that moment, Scott knew they would never be apart again.

* * *

5.

And goes down in fire.

Hush falls over the courtyard. The remains chortle and pop at his feet, yet he hears nary a flame. His ears ring with battle. No wind spreads the desolation to more graceful kingdoms. The air is dead, soured with the rendered breath and flesh of the Demon Wolf, its head is lying at his feet. He grips his sword tighter before it.

But lifeless, it only sneers. Danny sheaths his weapon in favor of finding flight on the stairs. They are ages in rising, and even free of his helmet, he arrives at the fair prince's door with breast swelling, air-starved. He takes it in great heaves, composes himself, and shoves the door open.

"I am Sir Mahealani of the Kingdom Whittemore. I am sent here to ensure your safe travels into the hands of the Prince, at which time he shall immediately take you—excuse me," he interjects with a polite cough. The tower's prince is forward. Danny makes to refashion himself. It is difficult with the prince's mouth adhered to his neck. " _Excuse me_ ," he repeats adamantly.

He's sure that he hears _no_ coming from beneath his ear, but it's muffled and wet. Heated. Words warm him. His hand comes up tentatively to rest between the prince's shoulders, holding him closer for a moment before curling into the fabric and yanking him back. "Prince Stilinski."

" _Stiles_."

Danny frowns, appraising the prince. Fair, indeed. Hair messy, eyes bold and blatant in their interest. His mouth, waxen skin; Stiles licks his lips. Something in Danny's stomach curls, low with desire and greed. This is Prince Jackson's prize. Stiles is Jackson's key to ascending to the throne. Danny considers Stiles a second time, all the while, Stiles busying himself with removing Danny's armor. Stiles looks nothing like a prize. He looks—

"Beautiful," Danny mumbles, reaching forward with one bare hand and wrapping it around Stiles' neck. Stiles looks up from the fastenings of Danny's chest plate and smiles.

"I think we're on the same page now." A final tug and the metal jars itself away from Danny's torso. Stiles pulls it over his head, tosses it to the side.

A suit of armor does not lend itself to hasty removal, but it is with tenacity that the undressing is done. He finds himself in only his tunic and tights before he has completely embraced the idea of reaping Jackson's spoils. Stiles: pressed against him, flesh felt through their clothes. Human and desperate. Danny takes him to the bed with the grip of a knight. Stiles pulls his shirt away from his body, breeches from his legs, and splays himself amongst the sheets. Danny feels his breath leave him.

He can't divest quickly enough. Lowers himself onto Stiles, loves their mouths together in the stormy fury of a kiss, and reaches down to tease at Stiles' entrance. Finds something impeding his way; retreats to his haunches, staring between them, down at Stiles' hasty preparations. A wooden plug, it seems, and he looks to Stiles.

"I knew you were coming," Stiles stammers to explain, sitting up, embarrassed, closing himself. Danny opens him and takes him back down into the mattress.

His fingers find grip at the base of the toy, and he angles it, pushes it, twists it. Stiles bows up for him, taut, ready to be released. Taking the toy from him, Danny pushes his legs apart, and with one fell plunge, he is in the Prince of the Kingdom Stilinski. Stiles crows for it, taking Danny's shoulders into his fists, holding him closer, begging more of him.

"You were to be delivered to Prince Jackson," he moans into Stiles' ear. Catches the flesh in his mouth, chews it gently, loves it with his tongue.

"I don't want Prince Jackson," Stiles grinds out, one heel suddenly digging into the meat of Danny's back. "I saw you fight for me," he grinds down, pulling Danny back to look him in the eye, "I saw you humble my captor," he reaches his hand down to pleasure himself, "I listened as you ascended those steps. You are the first, Sir Mahealani of the Kingdom Whittemore. I will not have this prince of yours." The look in Stiles eyes has Danny closing his own, his release imminent, fast approaching. He loses himself when Stiles speaks again, forgetting all about the prince whom he swore to serve. "I'll have _you_."

* * *

6.

Cora had first seen her when she was walking through the woods one day donning a red leather jacket and a matching pair of heels. She had someone at her side, so Cora watched from a distance, immediately drawn to the women, the wolf inside of her howling at the mere sight. She learned her name was Lydia, and often listened in on the conversations she held with her friends.

She saw the women more and more as the days passed. She was always with someone, until one day she wasn’t.

“I know you’re out there,” The women said, stopping suddenly and looking over her shoulder. “You can come out, you know.”

“If I come out, you might be frightened,” Cora said, remembering the horrid fire and the curse laid upon her and what remained of her family.

“You don’t know that. Come out and let me see you.”

Cora hesitated before walking into view. Lydia’s eyes went wide for a moment before she was walking forward and touching Cora’s cheek. Her thumb gently caressed her deformed face. “I’ve seen you before,” She said softly. “Cora. Cora Hale.”

Cora turned her head away. “You should be scared.”

“But I’m not,” Lydia replied. “You don’t look as bad as some of the other things I’ve seen.” Lydia’s hand fell to Cora’s shoulder and she smiled. “Are you hungry?” Lydia didn’t give her a chance to answer when she took Cora’s hand and started to drag her away.

“How’d it happen?” Lydia asked one day as her and Cora were walking through the preserve. It had been weeks since they officially met and gone out for lunch.

“My uncle pissed off a very powerful witch,” Cora answered. “and they cursed him and what remained of us.”

Lydia took a sip of her mocha, thinking for a moment before speaking again. “How do you break it?”

“We have to find someone who loves us,” Cora said. “Someone who doesn’t see us as monsters.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Cora looked over and smiled. “No, you don’t.”

Lydia reached out and took the wolf’s hand. “Will you come back to my house with me?”

Cora blinked a couple of times before nodding. When they got back to Lydia’s, there weren’t any other cars in the driveway, meaning they would be alone for a while. Lydia led her up to her bedroom and closed the door before sitting down on the bed, patting the spot next to her. “You can sleep here tonight,” Lydia said. “I’m sure anything will be better than that shack you and your brother share.”

“You don’t want me to take the guest room?” Cora asked, hesitantly taking a seat on the bed.

Lydia shook her head and crawled into Cora’s lap, softly kissing the wolf. “No, I want you here but only if you want to be here,” She said, running her hands down Cora’s chest. She grabbed the end of Cora’s shirt and pushed it up slightly, waiting for an answer.

“I want to be here.”

Lydia smiled and pulled Cora’s shirt off before pulling off her own. She leaned back in and kissed Cora again, taking the wolf’s hands and placing them on her hips. Cora seemed very hesitant at first, but she slid her hands down and cupped Lydia’s butt, pulling her closer and kissing her back.

Cora’s hands slid back up a few seconds later to undo the lacey red bra Lydia was wearing. She got it off and tossed it aside, before fondling the woman’s breasts breaking their kiss to lean down and suck on one of the nipples.

Lydia gasped, arching her back and slipping a hand between her legs. Cora’s hand followed seconds later, rubbing against Lydia’s clit making her moan and tremble, thrusting against Cora’s hand.

Lydia pulled her hand away, pushing it down Cora’s pants. The wolf nearly howled as she was pleasured, faulting a bit in her own movement for a few seconds. She tangled the fingers of one hand in Lydia’s hair and kissed her again and again, feeling a heat pooling in her belly. Just a few more strokes and she was shouting out Lydia’s name, Lydia following only seconds later.

The two girls fell against the bed, gasping for breath. When Lydia opened her eyes, she smiled and ran her fingers down Cora’s human face. “I think the curse has been lifted.” She pulled Cora in for another kiss. “Who thought I’d end up princess charming?”

* * *

7.

 

Peter Hale, King of Beacon Realm, had everything that would befit his place, including a direwolf as guard for his kith and kin. One day his wife fell ill from eating a cake dusted with sugared blue flowers, dying in his arms only after forcing him to promise not to marry again unless he were to find someone who could be her equal in every manner than mattered. The king fell ill in his own right for six long years, his health only finding him once again at the realization that his promise could be fulfilled with his own son.

Unbeknownst to Peter, his son, Derek, could communicate with the direwolf who warned him of the warped miasma that churned in Peter's mind, and advised him to make only the most impossible demands as a condition of surrender to such a bond. Yet, for every new impossible thing Derek could think to dream up, Peter found a way to bring those things to him. The night before the wedding was to happen, the direwolf lay its head in Derek's lap in the high tower room that served as his gaol and breathed a blessing over him before seeming to sink away into a pile of fur that Derek clutched to his chest, knowing it would serve as a disguise to sneak him from the castle and stay hidden from any who might hunt him.

The skin made him ugly for all the direwolf had been beautiful, but it served its purpose to take him away from the castle and toward the edge of Beacon Realm where he found a guard station that hired him on in the kitchen despite the wolfskin he never took off. It was only when he bathed that he shed the skin, careful to hide himself away in a locked room. Little did he know that the head guardsman's son, Stiles, liked to peek through keyholes and fell in love then and there the first night, even as he recognized the wolfskin at Derek's side. The sight fueled his fantasies when he would take himself in hand during his own baths.

It was a surprise to Derek when, after he had been in hiding for months, Stiles fell ill and told his father in no uncertain terms that only a cake baked by Wolfskin, as Derek had come to be called, would provide the cure. Though his father objected strongly at first, Stiles met his eyes like a man and Derek was ordered to the kitchen. Derek had found himself watching Stiles as he came into the kitchen often to sneak food away for himself and the healer's son, but had locked away the part of himself that could recognize yearning. As he mixed the batter, he remembered it and was overwhelmed by it.

When Stiles cut into the cake, he found a ring and held it up to the light, shocking Derek to see it was his mother's; the only memento of his prior life he had carried. Stiles stuck the ring into his mouth and licked the crumbs from it before declaring that he would marry the owner of the ring. Derek stepped forward and held out his hand. "It was my mother's, but she is gone now so it was left to me."

Stiles stood and placed the ring in Derek's palm. "Then you are the owner and you will marry me." His eyes were certain, but his shoulders were tense until Derek's hand curled around his own.

Taking a deep breath, Derek slid the wolfskin off and let himself kneel before Stiles. "I will marry you."

A gasp caught in Stiles' throat as he knelt to join Derek. "You are the prince, aren't you? All of this time... You must know your father has been searching for you."

"What my father wants is something I wish to give to you rather than him." Derek let his hands go to Stiles' shoulders. "Will you still have me?"

Stiles smiled. "You have cured me of being sick with longing for you. I must have you now."

"Then, take me now before anyone else may." Derek slipped his mother's ring on his finger, overwhelmed with desire this time.

Standing, Stiles held out his hand. "Come to my room. I will strike a vow with your body that even your father can not deny." The promise in his tone sounded enough like absolution that Derek remembered what it felt like to be truly free.

* * *

8.

If you asked Stiles, it probably started that day in Emerald City, when Derek and Lydia fought and Derek ran away to live in the forests with the rebel animals.

If you asked Derek, it probably started when the hunters came back to Oz.

The truth was that the fall of Oz and the Witch started long before Stiles and Derek ever met, long before they were even born, because realms like Oz could not bear the lack of magic for long. And for all that Lydia, the Wonderful Witch of Oz, knew to manipulate and control, she had no magic of her own.

+

Scott dropped into Oz on the back of a storm. The debris destroyed Laura Hale's creepy dungeon with her inside it and Derek went a little crazy for a while. Stiles didn't really have time to play therapist for an ex-friend who wouldn't listen to him, what with the broken people Derek left behind for Stiles to pick up.

Erica, looking for her courage. Boyd, traveling to find his brains. Isaac, seeking his heart. They all had grievance with Derek the Wicked because his tragic destiny had only touched their lives for a brief period and left ruin in its wake.

When Stiles met Scott, he realized what true friendship was about – not that sore, achy thing inside him that wanted and wanted and could never be filled. True friendship was solid and warm and no less powerful, but lacking that sick yearning.

With the knowledge that they had never been friends, Stiles thought he could look at Derek and only see the enemy of Oz.

But what he saw instead was much worse. It was a sad, lonely boy with Stiles' heart in his shaking hands.

+

They met under the cover of darkness, the night before the rebellion would reach the Emerald City. Derek's pointed ears twitched with anxiety as he stepped into the clearing. Stiles could have come with reinforcements, had gone back and forth on it several times. In the end, he trusted in his own abilities should the worst come to pass. Scott and the others were protecting the city, nothing the rebels could muster would give them victory.

And Stiles wanted this moment. “You look like shit,” he said, because whatever they were to each other, they'd always be assholes.

Derek smiled. “You look like Lydia's pet wizard.”

Stiles stepped forward, right into Derek's space. He reached for him almost blindly, unable to stop. “Not tonight.”

They kissed, harsh and biting, like the battle to come. Stiles gasped and pulled away, just far enough to look Derek in his bright, glowing red eyes. He'd always been beautiful to Stiles where others saw a monster. Maybe that should have tipped him off years ago.

Derek pushed him backwards, down, where the forest floor had transformed into soft pillows. “Stop thinking.”

Stiles did. He let Derek take the lead, let him kiss and bite at his skin, let him mark with fangs and claws, wanted to feel Derek on him, inside him, as long as it could last. Derek whimpered at the touch of Stiles' fingers in his hair, moaned when Stiles began to drag them hard across his scalp.

“Please,” one of them groaned. “Please.”

They rutted together, no finesse, just pure need. Stiles could feel the length of Derek pressed into his hip, hard and hot. Begging to be touched. He reached out with his magic, curled it tight over Derek's heated flesh and bore down. Derek yelped with surprise, spilling all over them both, and the feedback slammed right into Stiles' gut. He came with a shout and a prayer for this night to never end.

+

They were huddled together, limbs entwined, when the stars began to fade. “It's nearly dawn.”

Derek sighed but didn't ask him to stay, so Stiles extricated himself and tried not to think about the dried fluid on him, the possession written into his skin. When he was nearly at the walls of the city, he turned back to where Derek had surely found his allies again and smiled. “I know why they call you wicked now.”

+

For all that the people of Oz would ever know, Stiles the Good and the Wicked Wizard killed each other in combat. Scott made a lovely speech about them. Stiles almost cried and Derek rolled his eyes at the obnoxious twisting of history. Their part of the story was over and their lives had only just begun.

* * *

9.

 

There’s the Disney versions of fairytales, squeaky clean and acceptable to parents. There are the originals, full of blood and gore where the little red is devoured, and the Big Bad is split open only to have his belly stuffed full of rocks.

And then there is this.

She doesn’t wear a red hood; she doesn’t have to, not when her hair is a glorious halo of strawberry blonde. But the big bad wolf still devours her.

Peter’s head is buried between her legs, his tongue delving deep inside her pussy as she writhes on the sheets, trying to grind herself against his face. But the hands that pin her thighs on the sheets are too strong and all she can do is wail into the gag, chasing the orgasm he denies her with a wicked smirk and another too-soft flick of his tongue against her clit that ratchets her desire higher.

“That’s it, Peter... don’t let her come yet,” the low rumbling voice of the hunter makes her shiver; she feels Peter’s gasp as Chris twists his fingers inside the wolf, can hear the slick squelch of lube. Chris is taking his time, tormenting Peter just as the wolf is tormenting Lydia, taking his time.

She closes her eyes and concentrates on feeling, her breath catching when Peter nips at her inner thighs, a hint of fang sharp but not enough to break the skin. It is enough to leave bruises, to go with the beard burn and she aches for more, for him to stop with the teasing and make her come already.

Lydia can feel him shudder between her legs, feel the sharp inhale of breath when Chris breaches Peter with his cock instead of his fingers, her eyes flutter open and she gasps at the sight of it, Peter’s proud back bent as the hunter slowly slides in balls-deep with a look of utter concentration on his face.

When he nudges his hips, Peter wails and his back arches up, his mouth leaving her flesh for a moment only for Chris’s hand to come up and grab him by the neck, pressing his head back down where Lydia is slick and throbbing, full of want and envy because she’s so hollow, so close…

Chris says something, too quiet for her to make out the words but she knows Peter had heard him. When the wolf moans and surges forward to wrap his lips around her clit and suck hard, she’s the one wailing, perfectly manicured nails rending at the silk sheets.

It doesn’t take long until she’s panting and twitching, so close to the edge she feels tears burning in her eyes. Her teeth bite into the gag, trying to hold back the scream that is building up inside her. Everything throbs, from her nipples – still wet and raw from Chris’s mouth and beard – to her toes, every push of Peter’s tongue against her clit electrifying.

His claws prick at the skin of her thighs and that’s what it takes to push her over the edge; pleasure rushes through her body in waves and she screams into the gag, screams until her throat is raw because Peter won’t stop, won’t let her fall back and she keeps coming and coming.

What feels like an eternity and a blink passes until Peter pulls his head back, his face wet with her juices as he gasps with his head thrown back. She can faintly hear him beg and Chris grunt in acquiescence before Peter stills, his body spasming as he comes untouched against the sheets and slumps down, his harsh breath hot against the wet skin of her quivering thigh.

Her eyes meet the hunter’s over Peter’s spent form; with a noise that sounds almost pained Chris thrusts once, twice and then he’s coming, too, filling Peter up with his seed.

A minute passes, then two; Lydia wriggles impatiently and Peter stirs between them. He moves deftly from underneath Chris, to take their weight off Lydia and to use his deft fingers, still sticky with her juices, to undo the gag.

His kiss is soft, tongue probing the corners of her mouth gently. When he pulls back, she smiles at him, before she turns to face Chris who’s now sitting up, rubbing his neck with one large hand. The hunter smiles and leans over to kiss first Lydia, then Peter.

As ever-afters go, theirs is a pretty good one.

* * *

10.

 

"Derek"

No response.

"Deeeereeeek... Come on, don't be like that. I already said I was sorry."

"You set my shirt on fire, Stiles."

"Technically, I set the tree behind you on fire," Stiles pointed out. "It was a spark that landed on your shirt, so I really don't think it's my -"

Derek shoved him up against a tree and growled, “You’re the one who made that stupid wish and you’re the one who doesn’t even know what the fuck you are or how to get yourself under control, so yes, it _is_ your fault. All of this is your fault.”

Stiles swallowed hard and tried to look more contrite than aroused, although that really wasn’t his fault. When someone frequently got slammed into walls and up against any number of vertical surfaces and said slammings had a tendency to result in an orgasm, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that a Pavlovian response was going to develop. And okay, so they were stuck in some sort of fairy tale world (they’d figured that out when they’d seen an honest to God _dragon_ overhead), and Stiles might have mentioned wishing life was more like a story to his new guidance counselor, but how the hell was he supposed to have known that she was some kind of genie?

And as if that weren’t bad enough, he had a whole host of freaky uncontrollable powers that kept showing up about two minutes before orgasm. Sex had come to an abrupt end when he’d turned invisible, since Derek insisted on being able to see the person he was fucking. A stellar rim job was interrupted by an unplanned teleportation to a local village that sent them both running for cover (and pants). When he’d eventually managed to talk Derek into a blow job, he’d been sure their problems were over. He’d gotten so close to finally coming...

And then he’d set the tree on fire. Stiles was starting to think he really was cursed, that he’d never get off again. He opened his mouth to apologize when Derek’s mouth came crashing down on his. And kissing Derek was a lot more important than any curse.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and moaned when Derek’s hands yanked his jeans open. “This time, I’m not stopping,” Derek warned him. “I don’t give a fuck what happens, so you’d better not set me on fire.”

“No fire,” he gasped, hips fucking up when Derek’s hand wrapped around his dick. “Fire bad.”

Derek just grunted and kissed him, rocking against him as he jerked him off. Stiles could feel him, hard and hot against his hips, and he really wanted that fucking amazing cock inside him, but that would mean stopping, and he wasn’t about to do that. He’d just have to make it up to Derek later.

It didn’t take long for things to turn sloppy and perfect and there was no way he was going to last, not after the repeated cockblockings. Stiles tried to warn Derek when he got close, but Derek twisted his wrist and all he managed to do was let out a garbled moan as he spurted hot and thick over his fingers. He clung to Derek, whose growls got louder before he followed him over the edge,

For several blissful moments, nothing mattered but Derek’s body pressed up tight against him, Derek’s voice saying how much he - _loved him_?!? Okay, that was weird. Stiles knew how Derek felt, but after the first muttered, scowling confession, he hadn’t really been vocal about it. It wasn’t until Derek kissed him and he still heard him say he wanted more that he realized that he could apparently read minds now.

But he wasn’t about to go into that right now, not when there were lots more interesting things to do with this new ability. “So is this the part where we live happily ever after?” he teased.

Derek frowned and said, “There’s no such thing as happily ever after.” _Even if I wish there was_.

Leaning in to nuzzle at Derek’s neck was all about getting round two started, not because Stiles hated the thought of Derek not believing in happy endings. “How about just ever after, then?”

There was a long silence before Derek said softly, “Yeah. We can do that.” _I hope_.

It wasn’t the fairy tale ending he’d thought he wanted, but that was okay. It was real, and that made it even better.

* * *

11.

 

Soot still clings to Stiles's clothes from the cellar his wicked stepfather had trapped him in for daring to go to the ball. That doesn't matter now. He'll never have to sweep another floor or listen to his stepbrothers' demands. Part of him can't believe it's real, that he's really in the palace with handsome Prince Derek. Out of all the people at the ball Derek had chosen him.

"You're thinking too much," Derek gasps. He rolls his hips. One hand holds Stiles's head steady as Derek rocks into Stiles's mouth, reminding him that he should be focusing on the cock in his mouth and not on the way the soot on his pants is staining the carpet.

He sucks, opening his mouth wide to take Derek deep. He's never done something like this before but from the way Derek groans and murmurs, he's doing well. The hand on his head clenches and unclenches in his hair. It feels nothing like the way his stepbrother Ethan would pull on his hair when he was too slow to follow an order.

Derek's hand tightens and pulls back. His cock slips from Stiles's lips seconds before Derek comes all over Stiles's face.

Stiles blinks. His breath comes hard and fast and he wants. He wants so much.

"You look so beautiful," Derek says. It's not the first time he's said so – that was at the ball, when Stiles's borrow clothes had fit him like a second skin, just before Derek had stolen a kiss in the palace garden.

There will be many more stolen kisses to come, in the garden and elsewhere.

"Derek..." Stiles moans.

"What do you want?" Derek's eyes flash red for a second and when he looks at Stiles, there is only love and want. "Tell me and it's yours."

"Touch me? Please?"

Their clothes form a haphazard pile on the floor. It's a mess that Stiles itches to clean up but he's otherwise occupied. Derek's bed is soft and warm, especially so with Derek on top of him. Derek's hands explore his body, touching everywhere they can reach. One hand curls around Stiles's cock and he nearly screams with pleasure. He arches up into the touch, rocking into it.

His legs spread. Derek settles between them like he belongs there and Stiles wishes Derek hadn't come already because he wants Derek inside of him. He wants to be connected, united in body as well as spirit.

He must make a noise of want because Derek's other hand dips into his mouth for a second. Stiles sucks at his fingers greedily before they're pulled away and then those wet fingers are pressing up and inside of him, invading him in a way that makes him moan with pleasure. It burns but he's dealt with worse.

"Derek..."

"Come for me, my cinder boy."

Stiles comes with Derek's fingers deep inside of him. Derek's hands slow, gentle on him until his orgasm subsides and then Derek rolls them, shifting until they're lying on the bed properly.

"Stay with me," Derek says. "Be mine, forever and always."

"I will," Stiles promises, and from that moment onward they lived happily ever after.

* * *

12.

 

Peter put his loot carefully on the desk. It wasn’t unusual that he had no idea what his catch was, considering that he often worked for hire, but this time, the blind bargain was for himself. Okay, he was a master thief, but he was also a collector in his own right.  
When he heard that Deucalion, - the most pretentious asshole this side of the world - had something in his possession that was absolutely unique he just had to have it.  
He walked around the object (a covered bird cage, he guessed) and enjoyed the anticipation for a few moments before he yanked the thick fabric away.  
Peter blinked.  
“Well, this is not what I expected…”  
“That’s what she said,” came from the tiny creature in the cage. He looked like a regular teenager, except that he was about 8 inches tall, Peter suspected that he wouldn’t even be able to hear him if not for his werewolf senses.  
He leant closer to the cage, making the tiny human immediately back up to the other side.  
“What exactly are you?” He was fairly certain that it was infact a shrunken human, and not a fairy or something else, considering that he was clad in jeans and a flannel shirt, but it never hurt to make sure.  
“Um… I’m Stiles? I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m just your regular nobody, okay? Only, apparently I have a problem with keeping my mouth shut, because there was this english teacher we had, Ms Blake, except, she was actually a witch, and anyway, I only told her that maybe she could be a teeny-tiny bit more flexible with homework, and then she was like, ‘I will show you teeny-tiny...’ and then I was like this, and she put me in this cage, and then she told me she would let me go after I learnt my lesson, but then this Deucalion dude came and he was an asshole, and he killed Ms Blake and took me home and then… well, here I am, I guess,” the boy finished, topping it off with a little ‘ta-da!’ gesture. “So, would you mind letting me go or something? I mean, I’ve been missing for almost two weeks now, and I bet my dad is going insane right now if he didn’t already.”  
Peter briefly wondered how it was possible for someone so small to talk for so long with only one breath.  
He considered saying no, but the thing with magic like this was that it could backfire, and in his experience, if it could, it most certainly would. He would probably end up with charges of human trafficking sooner or later if he kept the boy.  
“Alright. But not right now. Deucalion is going to search everywhere for you, so I think it would be safer to lay low for a few days,” he concluded, to the boy’s obvious apprehension..  
Peter wasn’t someone to be trusted, that’s for sure, but he didn’t like being distrusted without earning it, so he rolled his eyes at his guest.  
“Is there anything I can do for you until then, Stiles?”  
The boy looked around himself, from the mostly eaten apple slice and piece of cheese Peter guessed that he couldn’t be too hungry, then his tiny face scrunched up in disgust.  
“I need a bath. Seriously, I needed one ten days ago.”  
Peter nodded, Stiles was palm sized at the moment, but still, his nose couldn’t help but pick up the smell of unwashed boy drifting from him.  
“Very well.”  
He left Stiles in his cage - just for safety’s sake - then quickly collected a bowl of hot water and a hand towel.  
As soon as he opened the lock, the boy was out of it, making quick work of exploring the tabletop, though there really was nothing to see.  
He walked around for a few minutes, then looked at Peter with as much annoyance as only a teenager could.  
“Would you mind?” he asked, gesturing towards the door. Peter sighed, but complied, the kid seemed smarter than trying to get off the table, he would only end up falling to his death.  
***  
Safe to say, Peter wasn’t prepared for finding the boy masturbating in his best soup bowl.  
And, most definitely, neither of them expected what exactly would break the curse, but in the end they were left with a broken table and - maybe - a happily ever after.

* * *

13.

 

"There are cartoon bluebirds tweeting at me and flying around my head."

Peter shoots him a look. "You're still hallucinating."

"They're cute." Stiles gives him a sappy look and makes 'come here' gestures with his hands. When his lover ignores him, remaining several feet from the bed and annoyingly dressed, Stiles pouts, but then brightens up and points to himself. "Now they're fluttering around my dick. Look, it's all hard and lonely."

The blanket Peter had diligently covered him with is at his feet and, since he insisted that his clothes itched, he's naked and squirming.

And, thanks to the aphrodisiac wolfsbane he ran into, his cock _is_ hard.

"Cocks don't get lonely. You're drugged to the gills." Crossing his arms over his chest, Peter just shakes his head at him.

"Nuh uh, just horny, and mine does." He sticks his tongue out, then crosses his eyes trying to see it.

Peter's phone ring and he yanks it out of his jeans' pocket, looking at the display before muttering, "Thank God," before barking into it, "Did you find anything?" Deaton's answer is annoying and not to the point, mostly because it's basically 'it'll wear off in a few hours; it won't cause any permanent harm.' With a growl, Peter stabs the off button and tosses his phone onto the night stand.

Stiles is still trying to look at his tongue.

"You're making me dizzy, stop that."

"Okay. How 'bout I do this instead?" 

And Stiles starts sliding his cock in and out of his fist, moaning like a harlot.

"Stiles, stop that," Peter sighs.

"Nope. The birdies like it. I like it." He glowers at Peter and arches his back off the bed as his cock starts leaking pre-cum over his pumping fingers. The young man is amazingly limber.

Peter's dick twitches.

"Shit..."

Sitting down on the bed next to Stiles, he knocks his hand away and replaces it with his own. Stiles moans, pants, bucks his hips and tries to grab Peter. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he begs.

They haven't done that yet. They're not doing it while he's under the influence, but they have done other things and, it's not like Peter has morals or anything.

Lowering his head, Peter sucks the tip of Stiles cock, making him shudder and howl. As he takes him deeper, his tongue licking the shaft, tasting him, his hand plays with Stiles' balls, squeezing them until he squeals in pleasure.

"Yes, oh fuck yes, the birdies love it."

Peter rolls his eyes, but starts to suck at a quick pace with a tight suction, just the way Stiles likes it. By the sounds he's making and the ways he's wriggling and twitching, he's really liking it.

"Let me fuck your mouth, oh please, Peter."

That's new.

It's also one of Peter's favorite things. Slipping off the bed to his knees, he pulls Stiles with him until he's seated on the edge of the mattress, slick cock right in front of Peter's face. Stiles takes hold of his head and Peter opens his mouth wide, then relaxes his throat as Stiles drives his cock inside.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Hell God shit..."

The tip slides down his throat and Peter lets the muscles close around it. Stiles' babbles turn to loud yells of pleasure, and Peter relaxes as the younger man pulls back, then tightens again and again with each increasingly erratic thrust. Stiles' fingers grip his hair and his hips bounce and Peter loves it as he hungrily deep throats.

With another cry, Stiles comes, body shaking, dick jerking and spilling cum onto Peter's tongue. He swallows it down, then licks his way up the shaft before finally pulling off with a lick of Stiles' sensitive slit.

Groaning, Stiles falls back onto the bed and Peter rises on trembling legs to rearrange him so his head is on a pillow. Before he can cover him up, Stiles grabs his wrist and croons sleepily and sappily, "And they lived happily ever after."

"Really, Stiles? Really?"

"Well, I did." He reaches for the bulge in Peter's jeans where he's been hard and aching since Stiles' cock first slid down his throat.

"Still not fucking you."

"Hand job then nightie night. The birdies are tired."

"Fine," Peter huffs in fake annoyance as he lets Stiles reel him in with a finger looped into his belt and his other hand cupping his dick.

* * *

14.

The room was filled with raised voices; shouts of the opinions of others and the demands of the few who, in the grand scheme of things, did not matter. Chris was tempted to either pinch the bridge of his nose or rub at his temples, he instead settled for clenching his jaw shut tight. Of all the things Peter could have done, announcing to the entire court their intentions to marry, intentions Chris hadn’t really agreed to yet, was among the worst.

“Be quiet!” Peter’s voice echoed through the hall in only the way one raised as royalty, raised to be _heard_ , could manage to pull off. The entire court fell silent, the Queen, Peter’s sister, obviously waiting for the ploy her brother was about to make. Chris could only hope Peter wasn’t reduced to his boyhood penchant for speaking before having a fully-formed plan. “If my nephew, the Prince, is able to find and take happiness with the court jester, of all people, then I’ll be damned if anyone will keep me from fulfilling my hearts desire. Did I not do my duty as Prince and my sister’s heir, at the time? I married and produced a child of my own, forced to watch as the man I love married and made his own life away from me. Now the fates have brought us together again, and you would deny me this? After all I have done? All I have sacrificed for my family? For this kingdom?”

Chris pursed his lips the moment Peter shifted the spotlight on his nephew and his own scandalous relationship. He wasn’t fond of that move at all, but… it would be a lie if he did not admit to finding the rest of what Peter said touching, and… inspirational. But further showing his penchant for manipulating and putting on a show. As Peter’s hand possessively slipped around his back and came to rest on Chris’ hip, he really couldn’t find even a small amount of real annoyance over it. The dramatics, the manipulative ways that made up Peter… as aggravating as they could be, they were also a part of why he loved him. If it marked Chris as being slightly mad for it, well, he never claimed to be a sane man.

The silence stretched on, then finally… “You are right, brother. You have done your duty. I see no reason why you cannot have your Huntsman, with our blessing.”

* * *

There was nothing great or tender about their wedding night, but then… with how much time they had lost… they were past that point. Plus, no one would ever accuse either man of being particular tender, not even their daughters. So it made sense their lovemaking held very little of it. For a royal, Peter’s hands were surprisingly rough and calloused, the marks of a fighter, just as the scars covering his body from weapons of silver did. Not that Chris’ body wasn’t likewise marked, his own occupation just as dangerous as his lover’s.

“Mine, you’re finally mine,” Peter’s voice was rough and possessive. The possessiveness of a man use to observing everything around him as possessions to be owned, even Chris himself. Something they would no doubt argue about well into the future.

Chris grabbed at the bedding beneath him, resisting the urge to lean down and bury his face in the ridiculously white and soft material. It would give Peter too much satisfaction to see him submit to that degree. Instead he grunted with Peter and moved back in time with his thrusts, and then forward into Peter’s hand. Peter’s stamina was staggering, but Chris wasn’t going to give in… wasn’t going to disappoint him. But he hardly expected the bite to his shoulder, and how his frenzied state would change the pain into pleasure and give him that surge capable of sending him tumbling over the edge, losing himself in orgasm as Peter began to frantically slam into his entirely too human body until he himself was joining him with a shout.

Later, Chris laid completely spent of all energy, Peter stroking his back, up and down along his spine. “You know, Chris, if we’re to have a proper ‘happily ever after’, we’re going to have to work on your stamina.”

“... you’ll be the death of me,” Chris responded, a little smile on his lips as Peter leaned down to kiss him.

* * *

15.

 

By the time the wedding winds down and Scott finds himself ushered down the hallways towards his new bedroom by several giggling servant girls, the food in his stomach feels like lead and nervousness twists like a serpent in his chest. He's walked the halls of Castle Argent several times now but it still looks impossibly huge and fine, incomparable to the hold he'd served as a knight in before.

The princess' room is richly decorated in furs and tapestries. A fire roars in the hearth. She is still wearing her wedding dress.

"The prince consort, Your Highness," one of the girls says, bowing.

Scott bows too. He winces when an elbow digs into his side.

"You don't bow like that to your wife," the girl who'd announced his presence hisses in disapproval. "You're her equal now."

He straightens quickly enough to catch the amused quirk of the princess' lips as the servants leave. They close the door behind them.

"Sir Scott," she says and holds our her hand.

It looks small and elegant in his but her palm is calloused and her grip strong. "Princess Allison," he says. He leans down to kiss her. She tilts her face to his, meeting him halfway.

It is not the first time they've kissed, but it's the first time they've been unchaperoned.

The kiss starts like the one during the ceremony, chaste and unobjectionable. But when Scott puts his hands on Allison's waist, her lips part. Her tongue, hot and wet, presses into his mouth. He groans against her and, feeling daring, runs his hands up her corset until the tips of his thumbs just barely brush against her breasts.

Her laugh is low and throaty. "Enjoy it now," she says, "I only wear it on special occasions."

Her dress is in the way. There's something under it to keep it poofy and he keeps stepping on the fabric when he tries to press against her. "I want to see you without the dress," he says. He adds, when she stills and twists, "You don't have to if you don't --"

"Shut up and help me," she interrupts, already pulling her arms free and struggling out of the corset. "I always forget how much I hate these things." It takes several minutes to successfully free her, but eventually there is a pile of fabric on the ground and she's naked before him, pulling at his clothes. "Yours too."

They tumble onto the bed in a mess of limbs and bare skin. Scott kisses her mouth, her jaw, her throat. He ducks lower to run his tongue against her nipples. Her hand clenches tight in his hair and her breath hitches.

Allison guides his head lower, until Scott's on his knees between her legs, nose buried in the patch of hair above her cunt. He inhales deeply and drags his tongue over her slick wetness. Her moan escapes like a sigh.

With her direction, Scott licks and sucks and curls his fingers inside her until she gasps and spasms around him. Her body goes limp as she catches her breath. Her face, smiling and affectionate and covered in a faint sheen of sweat, is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

She hooks one leg around his waist, easy and relaxed. He slides right into her hot tightness. Her skin tastes like sweat and her warm breath against his ear sends an excited shiver down his back. Her fingertips dig into his back as he thrusts into her and she rocks her hips against his in encouragement.

He comes inside her, panting, with his face tucked against her throat and her nails digging into his ass. He nuzzles her cheek with his. She makes a pleased sound and wraps her arms around him, then rolls him off her with ease.

Scott props himself up on his side. She smiles at him and tucks herself against his chest.

"What would you have done if you didn't like me, when I came to rescue you from the cursed tower?" he wonders.

"I don't know, refused to come with you? I never really thought about it. Knights never get past the chamber of poisonous gases." She trails her fingers down his arm, unconcerned.

Scott frowns. "I don't remember poison gas on my way up. I didn't have a plan for poison gas."

His new wife laughs. "I know. That's why I went down and disabled it."

* * *

16.

Deep.

Deep.  
Deep in the forest, there is a tree in the heart of Beacon Hills wood. Vast and pure, strong and old. It’s roots are broad and snake deep into the earth. It’s depths nobody knows. The tree has been here longer than any living thing and it bleeds magic by the moon’s glow, for it is the heart of the forest.

  
It is said…  
 **Whomever carves their intertwined emblems into the tree,  
forever lovers they shall be**  


A story every child knows, a story passed down to all.

 

Today we find our lovers. Fastened to the mighty trunk with red linen. Hands bound and legs spread. The lovers joined and the bottom bred. A fanged howl and a freckled smile. Two lovers joined by kisses and flesh, a hard line of slick and breath.

Marriage rights. Derek holds Stiles’s legs, hitched up around his waist. He feeds himself into Stiles with a hunger fueled by the power of the mighty tree. They kiss and rut, cry out for the moon gods to hear their declaration.

Below Stiles’s back, on the flattest part of the trunk, there is a carved triskele with an S that twines through it’s spirals. Just moments before, Derek carved their marks into the meat of the tree with his claws while Stiles held himself pressed to his back.

_“I marry you, I marry you, I marry you,”_ Stiles chants almost too quiet into his ear. A smile creeps across his mate’s hairied face.

_“I love you, I love you, I love you,”_ Derek purrs back, and Stiles hums his happiness into the air.

Derek slides into Stiles, calves shaking and fangs extended. They are wet. Wet with sweat. Wet with each others kisses. Stiles’s hands are balled in their restraints. Tied loosely, but efficiently, his body wound with blood red linen, holding him to the tree. Derek’s hands move from the cradle of Stiles’s thighs and travel a path from hips to chest, then down the long line of his arms. He touches Stiles’s palms, silently asking him to open his fist so they can twine their fingers together.

It’s only been minutes since Derek shed them both of their wedding clothes, tied them both to the Nemeton and without preamble fucked up into Stiles’s body. He’s losing himself. Losing control.

Stiles whispers, “let go,” and Derek does. Derek fucks him with all the same intensity that he had the first time he claimed his true love, in this same forest so many months ago.

Their combined moans awaken the magic of the great tree. The full moon high in the sky, the affirmations of love. Thoughts of family and pleasure and mates.

Derek feels their love in his bones. He feels complete and looks Stiles in the eye, sees the bond they share written across Stiles’s face. He thanks the moon gods for giving him his grand match. And with the these thoughts consuming him, he pushes his face into Stiles’s chest, inhales his scent and comes inside his husband with fervency.

Stiles kisses Derek through his climax. Peppers his lips and face with tiny kisses while Derek catches his breath and pulls himself free of Stiles. Stiles’s thighs are a wet mess, and that makes Derek beam.

He starts to undo the knots holding them to the tree.

“Hurry up. I want to make you as messy as you’ve made me,” Stiles teases.

“Not a chance,” Derek answers with a playful smirk. As soon as the linen falls to the ground, Derek grabs Stiles and flips him so his back is painting Derek’s front. He pushes his face into Stiles’s neck, breathes against his ear, rekindling the spark from just moments ago. Derek lays hands on Stiles, coaxing the climax from him, and Stiles spills himself right over their freshly carved letters adorning the great tree.

After, their isn’t much talk, just little giggles and kisses exchanged between redressing. The lovers don’t stop touching and exchanging glances between one another.

As they leave and make way back to their small house at the edge of the woods, both stop and take one last look at the vast tree.

“We’re coming back here again,” Stiles says. “Many, _many_ times. And next time, I’m tying you up to the tree, _husband_.”

“As you wish,” Derek teases with a quick flash of his eyes.

 

The magic of the Nemeton was strong that night. Derek and Stiles were blessed with a large beautiful family from their matings at the magical tree. They lived a fruitful, long life together.

Happily.  
Ever.  
After.

* * *

17\. 

 

**Once Upon a Dream**

The first time Derek saw Stiles was in the forest that borders the Kingdom. Stiles was walking alone picking berries and complaining to the animals that were following him.

“I mean seriously, Scott.” He turned around and picked up a brown bunny. “How am I ever supposed to find _the one_ if I’m not even allowed a mile away from home.” The bunny’s ears twitched and it kicked its tiny legs out and Stiles huffed. “Sure, take their side.” He put the bunny down and continued his rant.

Derek was immediately charmed. Stiles spoke enthusiastically and made dramatic hand gestures to his furry audience while keeping a delightful smile on his face. He seemed as tall as Derek but much leaner, his skin was fair and perfect, decorated with a series of subtle moles that had Derek wondering how much of his body they covered. His hair was dark and a few inches long and he had a delicate upturned nose that made his face all the more captivating. He began to walk towards the boy to introduce himself.

“Ugh, I wish you guys could understand. The man in my dreams is _perfect_.” Derek stopped in his tracks and took cover behind a tree. “I mean—he’s tall, strong, has dark hair and impossible eyes.” He sighed and leaned against a tree a few feet in front of Derek, but hadn’t noticed him. “I just wish I could meet him so he could take me like he does in my dreams.” He said while biting his lips and Derek’s heart began to beat quickly at Stiles’ words and at his mouth. 

Stiles sat at the base of the tree and closed his eyes as he untied his trousers, giving Derek a view of his hard length and pert ass. “At night, I dream he kisses me until I can’t breathe, undresses me and stares as if he wants to consume me.” Stiles began to stroke himself, moaning as his other hand traveled under his shirt and pinched his nipple causing his entire body to shiver at the touch. Derek was beginning to feel himself grow in his trousers, licking his dry lips when Stiles’ voice became huskier. “He kisses every inch of my body, but never where I need him until I feel like I’m desperate for it.” Derek’s eyes widened and his breath caught at the confession. “He makes me beg him to fuck me.” Derek forced himself to stay put when the boy spread his legs and began stroking faster.

“He takes his time opening me up, hitting me right where it makes me see stars over and over again.” When Stiles began panting and making more delicious noises, Derek thought for a moment about leaving but instead he stepped out from behind the tree and moved carefully to get a better view when Stiles got louder. Stiles’ eyes were closed, his face flushed, mouth obscenely open and his head thrown back in bliss as his hand moved hastily.

Derek watched as Stiles brought himself to the brink of orgasm, body tensed and chest heaving, hand moving desperately on his length. “Then—he—he finally thrusts himself inside me—filling me up until I—I—fuck!” Calling out for his dream man, Stiles spilled onto the forest floor. He looked utterly wrecked and sated and Derek wanted nothing more than to be the reason Stiles looked like that.

When Stiles began to gather his things after he redressed himself, Derek stepped up to him, revealing himself. He would never forget the blush that ran down from Stiles’ face to his throat when he saw Derek for the first time. He kept sneaking nervous glances back to the tree, probably wondering if Derek saw or heard him. He told Derek that he wasn’t allowed to speak to strangers. Derek’s only response was to smile and say, “I’m not a stranger, we’ve met before.”

Stiles gaped at him and with wide golden eyes asked, “When?”

“Once upon a dream.” Derek leaned forwards and gave Stiles a chaste kiss. Stiles seemed shocked at the gesture until he blinked a few times and wrapped his arm around Derek’s neck, pulling him back into a deeper kiss. They both moaned at the contact and when their lips parted Derek knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life taking Stiles apart until he looked as debauched as he did on the forest floor. 

And together, they lived happily ever after.

**~*~ The End ~*~**

* * *

18.

Scott heard the soft moans from beyond the wall. As he was sneaking up the secret passageway that he had discovered with Stiles when they had played in the castle as children. Even though the moans indicated the Duke was entertaining one of his concubines, Scott took care not to hit a creaky step.

He couldn’t take any chances. The Duke was rumoured to be the best fighter among the king’s knights. Scott would need to wait until the Duke was alone. Only then he could jump him, tie him up and get the duke to release his mother. Scott still blamed himself for leaving home to study the art of healing in the druid’s camp. As he returned Allison told him his mother had been taken by the duke and Scott hadn’t hesitated for a second to infiltrate the castle.

A loud moan among the softer ones made him shudder: With each step he heard those soft moans more clearly. Reaching the end of the stairs, Scott saw the crack in the wall. He couldn’t see too much as it was covered with something from the other side, but even there was a small hole. A beam of light fell through it.

Scott checked the floor for obstructions and looked for the dent in the opposite wall where the secret passage came up in the duke’s private quarters. Once Scott had everything memorised, he blew out his lamp.

Accompanied by more frenzied moans from beyond the wall Scott approached the hole. To see if it was really the Duke, he had to take a peek. All he saw was round table covered by a dark red cloth with a fruit bowl, a jug of wine and two goblets on it. Indicating the Duke was only entertaining one woman tonight.

As Scott tried to see more of the room the gasping and moaning reached a ridiculous intensity. The woman had to be faking it to please him: Scott had never heard any woman being this loud. Slowly, he widened the hole in the tapestry until he glimpsed them.

At the edge of the bed, the Duke kneeled his head buried between the woman’s legs which were wrapped around his back. Her legs, his back and the position was really all he could make out. It still could be someone else, but for now Scott had seen enough. He leaned back against the wall, listening as the soft moans all turned into deeper ones and then into lustful screams. Those lasted a bit; after they had ebbed away, the yelling came back a bit and then ended in one long satisfied sigh. Scott heard the smugness in the soft chuckle even before it manifested in the man’s voice.

“How about more wine? You’ll look a bit,” he paused as if looking for the right word, “perspired.”

The woman laughed and Scott found it sounded familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. Peaking again, Scott saw him walking to the table. He had to be the Duke, being totally naked the more prominent scars that Allison had told him about where visible to him. Even though this wasn’t the sight that disturbed him the most.

Scott observed him filling the goblets with wine when he saw a slender female arm brush past the scarred and muscular torso. Before he even knew it, he followed that arm to take a look at the woman with his enemy and gulped. Blocking his scream with one hand in front of his mouth, he stumbled back: the woman was his mother!

He had accidentally spied on his mother having sex ...

Backing off towards the stairs, Scott almost screamed when someone touched him on the back.

“Scott,” Stiles said, “when I heard you’re rushing here, I’d hoped I came in time. Damn, just like the Argents, any dirty trick to get rid of the Duke! Shame on them, you know, for telling you that he kidnapped your mom. Which he totally didn’t! Believe me, that Gerard fellow badmouthed him for no good reason. He’s actually been quite reasonable. And dude! Getting the Duke as your father-in-law, that’s actually cool. You’re going to be rich, live in a castle and …”

“Stiles,” Scott said and then again to shut his friend up. It was good news. He was happy if his mom finally had found someone, but Scott really wished he hadn’t gotten such a graphic image of how exactly she’d be made happy.

* * *

19.

 

Derek Hale was lonely. He was lonely, and he was bored, because his uncle and guardian Peter was too busy being freshly in love with his husband even after the years they’d been together and could hardly be separated from him. His older sister Laura was too busy learning to run the estate from said husband to hang out with or talk to him anymore. More often than not, Laura and Peter and Chris would all be holed up in Chris’s office while Chris taught Laura and Peter hovered. And Allison, Chris’s daughter and Derek’s stepsister/cousin, was too busy spending her days at the palace with her fiancé, the prince.

Derek took to helping out the servants around the estate, gathering and storing firewood for the long winter months, steadying ladders when the tall windows needed cleaning, learning how to cook and prepare meals in the kitchen. What he enjoyed most was the biweekly trips to the market in town. Derek would escort the cook and the maid to town and help them collect their packages and place them in the wagon. After the shopping had been completed, the two women would gather with other women to trade local news, and Derek would be able to slip away.

Several months ago, Chris had commissioned a cake from the local bakery for Peter’s birthday, and Derek had been the one to go and pick it up, since Laura and Chris were too busy and Peter didn’t know about it yet. Derek had fallen in love with the bakery almost as soon as he stepped inside. It looked heavenly and smelled even better, various pastries and cakes and breads on display, but what really made it special was the young man behind the counter. He had short brown hair, amber eyes, and pale skin that constantly seemed to have at least one smudge of flour on it. He was the baker’s son, and his name was Stiles. They connected at that first meeting, and on every subsequent trip to town, Derek would go to the bakery to see Stiles and spend time with him. Whenever he could, Stiles would excuse himself from the busy bakery and they would go for a walk around town or find a quiet place to be alone. The love between them grew as they got to know each other, and they had even started to talk of marriage, but it made Derek hurt inside.

He knew Peter would never allow him to marry someone as low born as Stiles, no matter how beautiful or smart or funny he was, and he despaired over never being able to marry his love. Their trysts were bittersweet after that, kisses exchanged in dark corners and secret places, with frantic groping whenever they could manage it. One such time occurred behind the bakery on a hot day that had driven most people off the streets and into their cooler homes. Derek had Stiles pressed up against the back wall of the bakery, Derek’s trousers pooling around his ankles with Stiles’s tossed aside, Derek rubbing against his lover and breathing in his sweet scent.

“By the way,” Stiles said, “Next month after Scott’s coronation, my dad and Queen Melissa are planning to get married.” Derek looked at him oddly, wondering why Stiles was bringing up his father when they were having sex. Stiles laughed and cupped Derek’s face in his hands, kissing him lightly. “Don’t you see? The King will be my brother. I’m going to be a prince.” Derek’s eyes went wide, and he kissed Stiles hard as he rutted into him frantically. Stiles gripped his shoulders tightly and moaned when Derek wrapped a hand around his cock and started stroking him fast. Stiles finished first, spurting onto his belly and Derek’s hand, while Derek came a second later inside of him. They stayed that way for a minute, and then they slowly slid down the wall to sit on the ground, their clothes tangled around them. Stiles leaned up and they traded several kisses, and then Derek pulled away and took Stiles’s hands in his.

“Marry me?” he asked softly. Stiles’s grin was blinding.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

20.

 

"What is that?" Allison asks, eyes locked on the contents of the box Lydia's holding.

There's a pair of leather collars nestled between the thin paper, and they're connected with a long, thin chain. Each collar is white, 2 inches in width and covered with glimmering stones. They could be diamonds for all she knows but Allison doesn't care. They could be glass and she'd still wear Lydia's collar with pride.

No, the problem, as it were, is the size. Both collars don't look big enough to be worn around the neck. "Lydia?" Allison questions.

Lydia waits for her to pick a sparkling leather strip up before picking it's twin up, wrapping it and the chain around one wrist. "I think this is more us. More equal footing." She explains quietly, pink flush running down her chest and dipping under the cream corset she's wearing.

Momentarily distracted by the color, it takes Allison a beat to realize that Lydia is slipping the leather around her wrist, making sure it's a snug fit before letting go. "Oh." She blinks at her wrist, smiling when she realizes what Lydia means. Her smile blossoms like a flower when Lydia shyly holds the second bracelet out.

Allison steps forward, so that they're chest to chest (something which makes her wish neither of them were wearing the laced corsets because there's nothing she loves more than the feeling of Lydia's nipples brushing against her own chest). She accepts the studded bracelet, kissing the bony edge of Lydia's wrist before carefully slipping the leather bracelet to its rightful place.

The chain clinks and sparkles between them. Allison grins, admiring how it looks and how appropriate it feels. "Not what you were expecting right?" Lydia teases, nudging Allison back, back, back until they both fall back on the bed.

It's Allison's hand wrapping around the chain which drags the redhead down with a surprised yelp and a giggle. The brunette laughs, delighted and so very happy. That particular feeling had been born the day Lydia had kissed her in her car after school, growing and growing until it's become this big ball of sunshine Allison carries around in her chest. And right it's pulsing with every giggle reverberating against her.

"I love it." Allison tells her wife, pressing her chin down to catch Lydia's eyes before pressing in to kiss those red, red lips. It's a beautiful shade, a perfect compliment to Lydia's complexion. And Allison has waited all day to turn it into a messy smear through dirty, long kisses.

She tries to turn the kiss from loving to filthy, opening her mouth and moaning throatily against a plump lip but Lydia backs away. Allison follows with a tiny confused noise, wondering why before being confronted with Lydia standing up and turning her back towards her.

Lydia shoots her a coy look before glancing down at the laced corset. "Help me out?" She asks, well aware of the image she presents. Allison takes in the stocking clad legs, the garter belt, the sharp curves of Lydia's shoulder blades before nodding.

Time seems to stretch and contract as she loosens Lydia's corset, holding her breath until Lydia wriggles her way out and turn around to face her. "So," Lydia smirks before straddling Allison's, pushing her down as she links their hands together. "How should we start the rest of our lives together?"

Happiness makes her answer stick in the back of her throat, causing her voice to thicken when she squeezes Lydia's hands and answers, "With some mind melting mutual orgasms maybe?"

Lydia hums, one thigh sliding high between Allison's thighs."Sixty-nine?"

"Perfect." Allison moans.

* * *

21\. 

Title: Stiles Stilinski and The Three Wolves (part 1)

“This seems a bit, uh, excessive,” Stiles told Isaac, who looked suitably cowed as they both studied Stiles’ naked body in the mirror.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Isaac apologized, wincing at the scratches on Stiles’ skin, the bruises on the inside of his thighs. “I didn’t realize it would get so hard to control myself. It just… You smell─”  
“Yes, like a sexy, irresistible buffet,” Stiles nodded seriously. He didn’t mind the bruises much, but it was mostly the claw marks that Isaac had scraped all along his back when he came that did the most damage. “I understand.”  
Isaac blinked. “Well, that wasn’t what…” he trailed off, noticing Stiles’ hurt look, before he tilted his head to drag his nose along Stiles’ hairline. He inhaled deeply and shrugged. “Yeah I guess you could say that,” he agreed, and waved an arm at the general direction of Stiles’ body. “I’m sorry.”  
“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” Stiles shook his head dismissively, looking around the area for his clothes. “It was fun, just a bit too rough for me. I’ll see you on Tuesday for burritos, though?”  
Isaac nodded, that wide grin splitting his face and making Stiles laugh even as Isaac pulled him closer to peck him chastely on the mouth.

+++

Three weeks later

“Did you talk to Isaac?” Stiles asked, staring up at the ceiling with a blank look on his face. The sex hadn’t been bad, it had just been… Way too gentle. Which surprised Stiles, because he’d been there when they’d gotten drunk off wolfsbane whiskey and Boyd had confessed the last time he’d had sex with someone they didn’t even make it to the bed. Stiles had shivered in excitement and then blamed it on the cold. It wasn’t his fault he expected some rough wall-slamming or floor sex, or something.  
There was a pause and the bed dipped as Boyd shifted awkwardly, before,  
“Maybe.”  
Stiles sighed. “You won’t break me, man.”  
“I’d rather not be the reason you can’t run without wincing during the next ambush and have Derek sit glaring at me for the next three hours. Isaac’s still walking on eggshells around him.”  
“Really? Still?” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “Christ, I gotta tell Derek to lay off the guy. We all got away fine, and he barely even sprained his wrist when that rabid omega pounced on him because he was waiting to make sure I was okay.”  
Boyd lifted himself up to his elbows, and Stiles turned his head to meet his “are you shitting me?” expression.  
“What?”  
“You can’t seriously think Derek was mad at Isaac because he got hurt after you refused to stay home, again,” Boyd raised an eyebrow.  
Stiles scrunched his face up, thinking for a long moment.  
Boyd chuckled, getting up and off the bed. “You need to get your shit together, Stilinski.”  
“Offensive,” Stiles pointed out, shaking his head fondly as Boyd pulled his jeans on and dropped a hand to ruffle Stiles’ hair, before grabbing his shirt off the floor and ducking out of the window.

+++

Thirty-two days later

“That was…” Stiles panted out, his fingers absentmindedly stroking through the hair on Derek’s arm, and his face comfortably pillowed on Derek’s chest. “I mean, wow.”  
Derek smirked, and Stiles rolled his eyes.  
“Oh wow, Scott can see your ego inflating like a balloon from across town,” he snarked.  
“If anything, I’m sure he would’ve heard you howling from all the way there,” Derek nipped at Stiles’ jaw, relishing in the way Stiles’ cheeks flushed.  
His fingers were dancing along Stiles’ back, sliding through the sheen of sweat on his skin and drawing indecipherable patters across his moles.  
“Well, you weren’t too rough, but you weren’t too gentle either,” Stiles said. “It was perfect. You were perfect,” he said, delighted in the way Derek’s ears were turning red. “Speaking of perfect…” he trailed off, humming thoughtfully when Derek made a questioning noise.  
“How soon can you go again?”  
He beamed up at Derek when he flipped them over, hovering over Stiles’ body. “Come here,” Stiles murmured, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smile even as Derek leant forward to press their mouths together.  
They made out for a few moments before began Derek nosing along Stiles’ jaw and sucked a bruise into the soft skin there. Stiles moaned, rocking his hips upwards against Derek with a breathless laugh. “Oh yeah, this one’s just right.”

fin.

* * *

22.

 

“W-,” Derek clears his throat to keep it from cracking. “Why did you do it?”

Stiles had been out of bed for two days now after sleeping for nearly three weeks to compensate for the magic exhaustion. He had known at the time that he was digging too deep into his reserves, but had refused to believe it until he had woken up to find an Opal glinting at him instead of his Sapphire. He jerked around from the fridge, swaying, with wide eyes.

“Did it work?”

The noise Derek made sounded like a dying whale, and Stiles’s heart sunk. He looked seven shades more tortured than Stiles had ever seen them, and that could only mean it had gone horribly wrong. Had something backfired? Had they all come back, but half mad and the pack had put them down while he had been-

The hesitant kiss to the corner of his mouth was like a shock, and he blinked in surprise at Derek as his mouth dropped open. He hadn’t realized that he let go of the refrigerator door until Derek had his hands on his biceps to keep him from falling over and guided him back against the counter.

“ _Why_ did you do it?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer. How was he supposed to tell him that he did it because he knew there was the chance that he could really bring them back for him? That he put his life and Craft on the line to make him whole? Stiles opened his mouth to at least attempt to answer him, but then it hit him why Derek was asking.

“You still don’t trust me,” he breathed, in disbelief. Derek was asking because he wanted to know what he was going to have to give in return. “Are you kidding me?! After everything we’ve been through, and you _still_ don’t trust me?! What the hell is wrong with you? I didn’t do that so you’d owe me! You-”

Derek cut him off, this time with his lips pressed against his. Stiles made a startled noise before he kissed back. It was a bit difficult to be angry with Derek’s mouth on his, and his hands roaming his chest, so Stiles put it aside for the moment. His brain could only focus on one thing at a time in the state he was in, and it was much more enjoyable to focus on the mouth on his neck as he tipped his head back and gave an appreciative moan. That seemed to be all of the encouragement he needed before he sunk to his knees.

“Derek what-”

He inhaled sharply as the werewolf peppered kisses over his stomach before sucking on the sensitive skin, and Stiles could only scramble to grab onto his shoulders as his head swam. Derek didn’t seem to mind though as he nuzzled at his happy trail while he pulled his pajama pants down to his thighs.

Stiles was shaking before Derek even touched him. The last thing he ever expected was to have Derek on his knees in front of him, and when he wrapped his lips around the head of his dick, he let out the most embarrassing sound the world had ever known. Either deaf or unbothered, the werewolf didn’t bother to stop as he swallowed around Stiles, and he moaned, burying his fingers in the werewolf’s hair. Derek’s fingers dug into his hips as he began to bob his head.

When Stiles’s knees went out from under him, he could have screamed out of frustration. This was not the time for his body to betray him! But Derek was quick; He caught him before carefully laying him out on the floor. There wasn’t time for the apology that turned into a moan as Derek wrapped his hand around him and went back to sucking his cock. His back arched as he whined, gripping Derek’s hair, and it only took a few more strokes before Stiles was coming into Derek’s mouth.

The werewolf pulled Stiles’s pants back over his hips before curling around him as the younger man tried to catch his breath.

“I could-”

“No.”

They layed there in silence for a while while Derek nuzzled him.

“’M glad your family is back,” he murmured sleepily, and Derek sighed before resting a hand over one of Stiles’s.

“ _Our_ family,” he corrected, and yeah. Stiles liked the way that sounded.

“Does that makes us mates, now?”

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

* * *

23.

“And they lived happily forever after.”

Stiles closed the book, put it on the nightstand, and leaned back on Derek, who wrapped his arms around him, hands warm on Stiles' naked skin.

“Well, this is the worst fairytale I've ever read.”

Derek laughs at him, and Stiles feels the vibrations through his body; it's warm and it's tingly, and it makes him want to crane his neck, let all the pale skin of his throat exposed so Derek will kiss it, lick it, bite it until it's raw and purple and marked.

“And what would _you_ know about fairytales?” Derek replies, lips brushing against Stiles' shoulder and sending chills down to his very toes.

He hums and puts one of his hands on the back of Derek's head, rubs there for a while, fingers going through the soft hair as Derek leans back into the touch.

“What do I--? Please. You and me? We are pure fairytale material, buddy.”

Derek hums and drags his lips over Stiles shoulder to the spot between his shoulder blades that makes Stiles pliant, all heavy limbs.

“How so?” Derek breathes out then, one of his hands slipping beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, fingers tracing the skin above his groin, nails trailing soft paths.

Stiles' breath stutters and his stomach flutters as the hand that had been absentmindedly caressing the back of Derek's head falls to the duvet.

“Well,” Stiles gasps out, “you are the big bad wolf, and I'm your little red.”

Derek's fingers lower enough to brush against Stiles' cock, and he feels it stir against the soft, careful touch.

He sighs and grabs at Derek's arm, puts his hand there to anchor himself, just a loose circle of touch as Derek's fingers lazily trace the length of his hardening dick and he stutters out an embarrassingly rough _yes_.

“But doesn't the big bad wolf want to eat little red riding hood in that one?” Derek drawls, and Stiles can _feel_ his smirk.

Asshole.

“Are you telling me--” he stops for a second to draw in some air as Derek finally ( _finally_ ) stops beating around the bush and makes a loose fist around his dick, pumps it once, slowly, and then again, “are you telling me you don't want to eat me out, big guy?”

Derek groans against his shoulder, open mouthed and hot and obscene, and Stiles smirks, feeling victorious.

“You like that, huh?” He asks, cheeky, voice a low murmur as he disengages from Derek's hold to turn around and push his legs together so he can straddle him. “You wanna eat you little red out, big bad wolf?”

Derek's eyes are bright and clouded by lust at the same time, and his hands come to rest on Stiles' hips as he pursues Stiles' mouth in a filthy, desperate kiss.

“I, _yes_.” Derek replies, talking against his mouth, words mangled and rushed, as his hands trail upwards and downwards, as if he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch first; as if he couldn't make up his mind about how to start devouring Stiles.

“Good.” Stiles grunts, his own hand fisting Derek's hair and tugging to get to his neck, to his shoulders,. “Good.”

He moves his hips in a little circle, feeling Derek hard and ready under him, and Derek moans, deep and husky, and it punches Stiles in the gut, rude and intense like it always is, even if they've been doing this for years.

“And we lived,” Stiles says, panting and pausing his movements to mouth at Derek's collarbone, “happily forever after.”

Derek stifles a chuckle on his shoulder, mouths at it for a while as he bucks up to meet Stiles when he starts thrusting again, and then says, “I don't think I can tell this one to our kids.”

* * *

24.

Once upon a time, the great Kingdom of Stilinski fell under a curse cast by a powerful evil wizard, who held a grudge against the king's undeserved good fortune ("Bullshit," the king claimed. "What Peter Hale is jealous of is everyone else's ability to be a citizen in a kingdom for longer than two days without making everyone else hate them or getting kicked out.") and plunged the kingdom into imminent danger of famine. The crops wouldn't grow, the rains wouldn’t fall, and the king called upon all his knights to find a solution and save the kingdom.

The most celebrated knights of all, Lydia Martin and Allison Argent, were the first to make headway on figuring out the curse. "To break it," Lydia explained, "the knight Danny Mahealani must give three fucks for the Prince Stiles."

"Uhhhh..." said Danny. "Why me?"

"No one truly understands the logic of magic, we can only grasp thin threads of its mystery on occasion," Allison intoned wisely.

"Well, we're screwed then, because I don’t give any fucks about Stiles," Danny said.

"Great. Wonderful. Thanks," Stiles said, as he was a modern prince and liked to hang out with the non-royal classes and encouraged them to treat him as one of their own. The knights took that liberty a little too readily.

"I'm just saying," said Danny, looking pinched.

Allison opened her mouth to lecture him about the importance of saving the kingdom when Lydia, who knew far better how to manipulate Danny, interrupted and said, "There is one alternative way."

"Perfect, we'll take that," Danny said with relief.

"You will have to cross the perilous lands on foot in order to seek a rare blossom that only grows from the highest boughs of a tree guarded by a venomous serpent on an island of igneous rock surrounded by lava," Lydia said, raising an eyebrow. "The blossom is the key ingredient in a counter-spell potion that will be difficult to create and endanger the lives of all those who try to brew it."

"That all sounds fine. Better than giving a fuck about Stiles," Danny said. "Let's pack and head out at first light."

Stiles knew he had the right to feel highly insulted here, but he didn't want to appear a coward for backing out of such an heroic quest, and so he shut up and agreed to go with Danny. His father, the king, was so overwhelmed with pride for Stiles' bravery that he couldn't find it in his heart to complain to him about Danny not giving a fuck.

The first few days of their journey were uneventful. The perilous lands were, as per their colloquial name, perilous, but they worked together surprisingly well and saved each other from many an unfortunate mishap. Despite having no steeds, they moved quickly on foot and soon reached the desert sands, on the other side of which lay the volcanic wastes.

Nights were cold in the desert, but incredibly clear. There were no clouds or light pollution for miles and they could see the stars spread out above them like a second blanket as they shared one for warmth, huddling close. It was awfully romantic. Especially for two redblooded young men who had not had any other outlet for days.

It happened that nature took its course and Stiles could not resist bedding the knight Mahealani, who was more than accommodating and returned his love so enthusiastically and so vigorously that they got sand in places that Stiles did not previously realize sand could go. And Danny, who was always so pleasantly compliant and yielding to others, turned out to be a surprisingly greedy lover, and woke Stiles throughout the night to slake his passionate thirst again and again. Three times they rode each other to completion, and when dawn broke upon their third coupling the infertile plateau of the perilous lands burst forth in buds and greenery.

"What...?" said Stiles looking around.

"It looks like the land is cursed no more," Danny observed drily. "In fact, it is now fertile beyond even the kingdom's bounds."

"Wait, give three fucks...literally?" Stiles made a face at how ridiculous spells were.

"I did think the wording was rather clunky."

"And Lydia sent us on this journey because she knew..."

"She knew of my deeply denied feelings for you," Danny admitted, blushing furiously.

Stiles grinned. And lo the kingdom Stilinski was saved, Stiles never let Danny live it down, and they lived happily ever after.


	6. Group B: No Warnings or Pairings

25.

 

Stiles stands in a dungeon and stares at the half-man, half-beast standing between him and his father.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he says and it’s a lie. The wolfman knows; he bares his fangs in an imitation of a smile.

“You’ll stay in his place,” the wolfman says and Stiles feels the tingle of magic down his spine. Behind him, Stiles’ father cries, “ _no_ ,” but he’s ignored.

Stiles is already bound to this place though the wolfman doesn’t know it.

He says, “yes,” because even without his curse he would do this. He would never leave his father in this place alone.

*

The wolfman, Stiles learns, is named Derek and he was cursed by a witch. This is something they have in common, though Derek doesn’t know it. Besides, Stiles was technically cursed by a faerie; it’s a different sort of magic.

*

Stiles settles into castle life.

In the beginning, he and Derek fight often and loudly, much to the chagrin of the castle’s other occupants.

As time goes on, though, the fights lessen. Their words still bite but it begins to have a different feel to it; playful and heated in a way that leaves Stiles aching for more afterwards.

It isn’t just the curse keeping him there anymore.

*

Derek’s uncle - King Peter - had a hand in Derek’s curse, Stiles finds out. This knowledge comes the same night that Peter corners Stiles during one of his visits and presses a poisoned dagger into Stiles’ unwilling hands.

“You will kill Derek,” Peter says deliberately; Stiles doesn’t bother asking how he knows of the curse.

“Please,” he says instead. “Don’t make me.”

Peter smiles.

*

Stiles tries to stay away and fails.

It’s impossible; least of all because of the curse.

*

“ _Fight me_!”

The shout echoes through Derek’s chambers. Stiles is poised over him, his hand shaking with the effort not to let the magic fulfill Peter’s order.

Derek shakes his head. “I can’t hurt you.”

The words snap something inside of Stiles and he knows, with a detached clarity, that he’d rather take his own life than hurt Derek.

The magic tightens around him, making it hard to breathe, but Stiles grips the dagger tightly and hisses through clenched teeth, “You will no longer be obedient. _You will no longer be obedient_.”

The dagger clatters to the floor.

*

Stiles confesses everything while they’re still lying on the floor. Derek combs his fingers through his hair and tells him it’s alright.

“I can smell magic on you sometimes,” Derek says eventually. “I knew there was something.”

*

It takes a week for them to kiss. It’s a week filled with lingering touches and tension that never seems to lessen.

Stiles doesn’t even know what they’re arguing about, just that they are and then suddenly they’re not. Derek has him pressed against one of the bookshelves in the library and licks his way into Stiles’ mouth, groaning when their tongues meet.

Sometime later, Stiles gripes, “what took you so long?”

*

Derek’s hands press him into their bed, his tongue slowly driving Stiles insane. He alternates between licking Stiles’ cock and dipping down to press into his ass, growling his pleasure when Stiles whines under his ministrations.

They learned that first night in the library that sex isn’t as easy for them, not with Derek’s curse still in place. They’ll find a way to lift it eventually but in the mean time, they’ve become experts at werewolf sex.

“Please,” Stiles whispers, his hips shoving forward. “Fuck, Derek, please.”

Derek obliges, his tongue pressing inside and gently licking him open the same way he does when he wants a proper kiss. It’s obscene and it makes arousal throb just under the surface of Stiles’ skin.

Moaning, he reaches down at grabs onto his cock, slick with Derek’s spit, and begins to jack himself slowly. He’s so close but he wants this to last as long as it can; loves the feeling of Derek inside of him too much to rush.

Derek pushes his tongue in as deep as he dares, pulsing it in a way that drives Stiles _insane_ before he pulls out and crawls up Stiles’ body, dragging his cock against Stiles’ ass as he leans over him.

“Come,” he growls, rutting against him, and this is one order Stiles is happy to obey.

* * *

26.

“A wolf,” Stiles cried, waving his banana and nearly nicking Isaac’s nose.

“A wolf?” Scott deadpanned, unimpressed. “There aren’t wolves in Beacon Hills.”

“Yes! Right there, just sitting on my driveway. Like it was a fucking dog or something, wagging its tail.” Stiles chomped off a bite, chewing with his mouth open. “And _then_ it smiled at me. Well, not really smiled, more like it bared its — his? — teeth at me. But it looked kind of friendly like.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

Stiles crossed his arms, effectively mashing his banana to his pocket and making a face at the mess. “Fine. Don’t believe me. No one ever believes Stiles.”

Isaac patted his arm. “Remember that time with the fireflies that you thought…” he began, but trailed off at the hurt look Stiles hurled in his direction.

***

“He was there again. On the porch!” 

“Sure, son,” John said tiredly into the phone. Stiles rolled over on his bed, phone cradled to his shoulder, fingers tapping idly against his thigh.

“You know, Dad, as local law enforcement, you should be much more concerned about the influx of rabid wildlife preparing to eat your only son than your current tone implies.”

There was an audible creaking of a rickety desk chair and Stiles could practically hear his Dad rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “Fine. You’re right, Stiles. I’m sorry. I’ll send a squad car to check out the neighborhood.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

But there was nothing there, of course. Stiles was beginning to wonder if he’d even seen the wolf himself, the moon full and bright as he stared out his bedroom window and down into the silent and empty street.

***

But nope, there was, in fact, a wolf. It was lying in his bed. And it had sharp teeth.

“Daaaad,” Stiles began to shout before being bowled backwards onto the floor, his breath leaving his lungs in a harsh whoosh. There was a terrible knife of fear that lanced through Stiles’ chest as that snuffling muzzle came so close to his face that he could count every bristly whisker. And then the pink tongue lolled out and licked along Stiles’ face with one rough swipe.

Stiles froze, panic seizing his muscles before breaking into a ridiculous laugh that boiled up from his gut and spilled out until his stomach hurt from the pain of shaking so hard. The wolf had the gall to look annoyed, swishing his dark tail and rearing up to place his front paws on Stiles’ shoulders and pin him to the ratty carpet. And then he licked Stiles right on the nose.

***

The wolf slept at the foot of his bed, and Stiles didn’t even think anything of it until one morning there wasn’t a wolf there. There was a man. A naked man. A very attractive, naked man.

Stiles pulled the covers up to his chin, suddenly fearful of waking the snoring figure. The man fluttered his eyes open and stared up at Stiles, the haze of morning hanging off long, dark eyelashes. The green eyes blinked at him, the color of moss, or one of those ocean pools, or—

“Hi,” the man said with a sleep-coated timbre, cutting into Stiles’ tumbling thoughts.

“Hi,” Stiles said back, grasping the edge of his blanket. “You’re my wolf?”

Derek looked at him, seeming to ponder something for a moment before curling up his body and sliding to seated in one sinuous movement that made Stiles both awestruck and turned on as fuck.

“I’m your wolf,” Derek said with a nod.

“Are you gonna put any clothes on?”

“Nope,” Derek answered, and Stiles looked, just because he could.

Stiles’ grin was huge, ear to ear, and he was rewarded by an irritated huff and crease of eyebrows from Derek.

***

“There’s a wolf in my bed,” Stiles giggled, and Derek cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

“Don’t tell,” Derek whispered, sidling closer and latching his hand around Stiles’ neck, drawing him into a dirty kiss and letting his body drag against Stiles’.

“Can I keep you?” Stiles murmured, throwing his head backwards and letting Derek nuzzle against his throat, breathing in deeply, scenting him. It was a move Stiles had grown familiar with, needed, craved, and he arched his hips, groaning as Derek reached down to grasp both of their cocks easily with a loose circle of his paw-like hand.

“Please,” Derek whispered, and the word sounded like a promise on Stiles’ sweaty skin.

* * *

27.

 

"And they lived happily ever after," Lydia finished with a smile, knowing her girlfriend would hear it through the phone.

Cora chuckled lowly, "That's the first retelling of the Three Little Pigs I've heard with all the pigs screwing the wolf."

"Ahem," Lydia fake coughed, "it's a fairytale Cora, they _made love in the moonlight_."

"Spit-roasting a pig just doesn't seem very lovey-dovey to me, and it's only an apple away from being a table setting," Cora said.

"The little pig was completely filled with desire and- _fine_ Cora, how about you tell a story then, and I'll pick it apart?" Lydia asked sarcastically, Cora always listened.

Cora flopped back on her bed, the humidity making her lazy, "Fine. Once upon a time there was a little red riding hood-"

"This isn't going to be based on our friends right?" Lydia interrupted.

Cora rolled her eyes and restarted, "Once upon a time there was a little banshee with red hair who liked to wander in the woods alone because she never listened to anyone."

"Hey! You can't-" Lydia started.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" Cora asked.

"I do," Lydia said petulantly.

"Good, then stop cutting me off. Now, the little banshee discovered a witch's house by mistake one day. She was about to go in when a werewolf ran her off course," Cora told.

"Obvious self-insert much?" Lydia asked with a smirk.

"Lydia..." Cora warned.

"Right, I'll be quiet," Lydia answered, collapsing on her bed.

Cora smiled and picked up the story, "The little banshee went home angry, and decided to go back the next day. She wanted to know what was inside of that house, and it wasn't like the werewolf lived there or would be around all the time. So she tried again at dawn, hoping the wolf wouldn't be awake. The wolf wasn't quite awake, and the little banshee got into the hall before being dragged out by angry teeth.

'What were you thinking little banshee?' the wolf asked, 'You could have angered the wicked witch!'

And the little banshee laughed, 'I would have screamed if she threatened me. Let me go wolf.'

The wolf growled angrily, 'You deserve to be punished little banshee-"

Lydia's breathy laughter cut Cora off, "Dissolving into porn a little early there aren't you?"

"Dammit Lydia, why can't you just let me tell the damn story?" Cora growled.

Lydia flipped over on her bed, excitement building in her stomach, "It was a flimsy pretense anyways, just tell me how you _really_ want to punish me."

Cora huffed, "Punish you? You think you deserve that after being a total brat?"

Lydia answered without hesitation, "Yeah."

"Fine Lydia. Y'know what, next time I see you- when you come down to visit me in two weeks- I'll punish you. And you're going to know exactly what will happen, so there won't be any surprises."

Lydia smiled, "Mhmm, and?"

Cora let out a ragged breath, "I'm going to start off by tying you open on my bed- and not that whimsy silk stuff you can get out of, but with the rough hemp rope- if you even try to get free, it'll rub your wrists and ankles raw. And I'm going to gag you-"

"With the jawbreaker gag?" Lydia interrupted excitedly.

Cora rolled her eyes, "Yes, with your damn candy gag. It'll keep you from interrupting my monologues."

Lydia laughed, and Cora grinned at the sound before continuing, "I'm going to kiss you until I remember what every inch of your skin tastes like, and then I'm going to bite you until you look like you're mine. And then I'm going to tease you until you're begging to orgasm, and you know what Lydia?"

"What?" Lydia asked brokenly, her body flushed and her right hand desperately rubbing her clit in tiny circles.

"I'm not going to let you," Cora said, pushing a cry out of Lydia, "I'm going to keep playing with your body while you beg for it. While you try to form words around the gag in your mouth, but they won't be clear enough. Not until you suck down enough of that damn gag to speak fluidly will I let you come. And we both know how long that can take."

Lydia's breath stuttered on the line, and when she had no sharp reply, Cora knew exactly what to say, "Why my little banshee, won't you scream for me?"

And she did.

* * *

28.

"See," Stiles says, risking a glance behind him. "Once upon a time, there was a princess, and _that_ —" He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, pulls a face that conveys a mixture of rage and horror. " _That's_ not a princess. It's a hotbed of roiling manpain, capable of disemboweling me with a pinky claw."

Three faces stare back, unmoved.

"I'm not doing it." Stiles crosses his arms.

Deaton purses his lips. "He's unconscious."

"He'll die if you don't," Scott says.

"What makes you think I'm the one? Shouldn't we be looking for a mass murderer?" Stiles' arms twitch, and he lets them free. "Isn't that his type?"

"It's you, Stiles." Lydia smirks. "One kiss. If it works, everyone's happy, if it doesn't..." Her eyes flick down to Stiles' belly. "Your entrails remain intact."

Stiles turns, taking in the sight of Derek laid out on his bed one more time. "True love's kiss? Such a cliché."

Deaton clears his throat. "It might take a little more than that."

"What?" Stiles jerks his head back. "More? More what? More kissing? Tongue? True love's blowjob? What are we talking about here?"

Scott giggles. "Keep trying until he wakes up?"

"I'm going to die."

Lydia pulls Stiles aside. "It'll work. When he wakes up and finds _you_ — Well. The last thing he's going to do is kill you. Trust me."

Stiles sighs. "Okay. But I don't need a goddamn audience."

He bolts the door behind them. He'd rather not have witnesses to what he's about to do.

Stiles has always thought fairy tales were messed up. Some brainless idiot with a sword molests a sleeping girl and happily ever after? Nope. And yet, as he stares down at Derek's face he can understand the allure. He's beautiful like this, so peaceful, and Stiles can't help reaching out to touch.

Just a fingertip at first, trailing feather-light along the edge of Derek's lower lip. Then he leans over to feel the softness against his mouth.

Derek sleeps on.

"Tongue, then," Stiles whispers.

Derek is relaxed, it's easy for Stiles to work his way into his mouth, to taste Derek's tongue, to feel the heat.

He lets out a moan, because he's been dreaming about this for months, convinced it would never happen. He pulls back, just to see if there's any sign of movement.

Nothing from Derek. Stiles' cock, however, is twitching in his pants, filling as possibilities crowd his mind. "If I jerk off on your face," he wonders, "would you wake up?"

Stiles is almost certain that if Derek did wake, it would be the end of him.

Stiles presses his aching dick against Derek's thigh. "God, that's good." He shifts again, straddles Derek's leg, rocks his hips and registers the pressure of Derek's cock.

"You're hard." Stiles slides his hand over the front of Derek's jeans, watching his face. Derek doesn't move, but his breath goes shaky. Stiles flicks the button open, draws down the zipper.

"I have your dick in my hand," Stiles whispers, thumbing Derek's foreskin. It's buttery soft, the thought of what it would feel like against his lips explodes in his mind, and he wriggles down before he can stop himself. "If true love's blowjob doesn't do it..." He loses the rest of the thought as he takes Derek's cock into his mouth.

Precome oozes onto Stiles' tongue. He moans, feels an answering rumble beneath his hands as Derek's cock jerks. He wants to make Derek come, desperate to drag him over the edge with just his mouth. He bobs his head, sucking hard, then stills to tease the underside of Derek's dick with the tip of his tongue.

Derek's hips twitch up off the bed. He lets out a long, drawn out moan, his cock swells, and then pulse after pulse of hot, thick come hits the back of Stiles' throat.

Stiles swallows convulsively, keeps suckling even after it ends.

Derek, eyes wide, lips parted in shock, drags Stiles up by the back of his shirt. There's a moment when Stiles thinks he's done for, but then Derek kisses him, thrusts his tongue into Stiles' mouth and moans.

"You're not going to kill me?" Stiles asks when he has to come up for air.

"No," Derek says, voice still thick with sleep. He rolls them over, starts to slide down Stiles' body. "I'm going to return the favor."

Stiles sighs as his aching dick is enveloped in Derek's hot, wet mouth. "So it's happily ever after, then."

* * *

29.

_Once upon a time, there lived a boy who was deeply in love. One day, someone discovered this love and took the objects of the boy’s affections, hiding them away with only a single clue for the boy to follow: a riddle…_

_With love’s first kiss, the blue awaken_  
then unto death is red forsaken.  
But should red be awakened first  
then it is blue whose heart shall burst. 

_A kiss for one, death to the other._

“What is it with this fucker and fairytales?” Stiles muttered, making his way to the bed, where Derek and Scott lay bound and unconscious. He’d figured out the note within minutes of receiving it, but was no closer to figuring out how to tell his best friend he was in love with him _and_ the guy he’d been panting after for years.

At first glance, the scene looked simple enough. Ropes held their hands behind their backs were burning their wrists and there was the shimmer of some kind of spell surrounding the bed and its occupants.

“God damned witches,” Stiles cursed. That spell had to trigger the “death” parts of the riddle. Kiss Scott, and the spell would make Derek’s heart explode. Kiss Derek, and -- Stiles squinted at Scott’s neck. Great. -- Scott would lose his head.

Climbing up on the bed, he settled between them and studied their faces. They both lay so close together, their lips were almost touching. Holding his breath and hoping that it wouldn’t trigger the spells, Stiles moved them the fraction of an inch needed and then leaned down and brushed his lips over both of theirs. 

The results were instantaneous. Derek growled and pushed deeper, locking their lips together in a searing kiss. Scott whined and trailed his lips down Stiles’ neck, then replaced Derek’s lips with his own while Derek pulled back to watch, his pupils blown with arousal.

Stiles moaned as hands started to roam his body, drawing up his shirts and trailing down into his jeans to cup his ass. He moans shakily as Derek leaned over and kissed Scott, a kiss Scott returned with enthusiasm. Stiles leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corners of their mouths, reaching out and pulling them both closer. 

The next few minutes were a blur of motion as clothes were removed and bodies were shuffled and hand and mouths were _everywhere_. Stiles had a hard time keeping track of who was touching who, and finally just gave up and enjoyed the pleasure that pulsed through them. 

He found himself on his back, with Scott’s mouth on one hip and Derek’s on the other. He writhed between them as they licked and nipped at the sensitive skin, then gasped and cried out when his hard cock was enveloped in searing heat. Looking down his body, he watched Scott’s head bob rhythmically as he sucked. 

Derek pushed up and licked into Stiles’ mouth. He whined when Derek drew away and then wailed when Derek’s lips joined Scott’s on his dick, lapping and sucking at the root before traveling down to his balls and bathing them with attention. It didn’t take much more than a hard, deep suck from Scott and the tip of Derek’s tongue nudging at his hole for Stiles to tense and shoot right down Scott’s throat. 

He lay there for a minute with his arm thrown over his face, catching his breath. Seconds later he was flipping around and hovering over Scott and Derek at the foot of the bed.

Scott had both his and Derek’s cocks in his hand and was jacking them quick and dirty. Derek wrapped his own hand around them, both of them growling and moaning, trading harsh kisses as their hips drove against each other.

Not to be left out, Stiles dove in and wrapped his lips around both cockheads, sucking for all he was worth. Hands in his hair held him still as they pulsed in his mouth.

Stiles pulled off with a pop and looked up, grinning, before reaching out to grab a shoulder each and pull his boys down to lay against him. Scott curled up on his right with his head on Stiles’ chest, while Derek spooned up against his other side and wrapped them both in his arms. Stiles still wasn’t sure how they had gotten here, but he was glad it had happened. Maybe they would get their happily ever after, after all.

* * *

30.

 

“Why do I always have to be Little Red?” Stiles jerks back from Isaac, but there’s no heat in the words. It’s a familiar refrain, part of their foreplay. Isaac likes the push and pull of the argument.

He smirks lazily. “Because I’m already the Big Bad Wolf. I’ve got the big eyes.” He opens them wide, lets them flash yellow for Stiles, hearing the way his heart races in return. “The big hands.” Isaac raises them, flexing so claws tip his fingers. He draws the point down the line of Stiles’s jaw; Stiles shudders in return.

“The big teeth,” Isaac murmurs against Stiles’s throat, grabbing on, holding, pressing down just enough that Stiles goes limp under his touch, beautifully submissive. He tongues at the skin, tracing the vein, tasting the pulse that beats beneath his touch. Stiles’s heart is pounding, hard and steady, the need echoed in the rising musk of his scent. “What do you want?”

Stiles licks his lips, twists his head to look at Isaac. Amber eyes peer out from under lashes made even thicker and longer with mascara. A flush of blue stains his eyelids, lips plump and red before he bites them, cheeks warm and rose. Isaac’s breath shudders in his chest; Stiles is _beautiful_ , every day in every way and _like this_ in particular. His hand slides against Stiles’s back, anchoring him as he softly orders, “Tell me.”

“All the better to eat me with,” Stiles whispers.

Isaac laughs, low and dark. “All the better to eat you with, my dear.” He turns Stiles to the wall, pulls his hands up, spreading them high against the wall. Then he catches the ties on the front of Stiles’s bodice with his claw, one quick slice cutting them so it falls loose, letting Isaac slide his hands under the fabric, claws grazing against Stiles’s nipples. Stiles groans, head falling forward, hands slipping on the wall; Isaac grips him, pushing his hands higher, holding them there until Stiles maintains the position on his own.

“Don’t move,” Isaac murmurs. “Be a good girl for me, and don’t move.”

Stiles whines, heart responding with a swift staccato beat of desire as Isaac reaches down, yanks his skirts up over his ass. He pushes back, and Isaac palms both cheeks, squeezing them through the lace before he bends down and tugs it to one side, baring the puckered red hole.

Isaac starts with a lazy lick. He knows his Red _wants_ this, and Isaac _wants_ to do it, craves the intimacy of it. He slides his tongue around the rim, spitting to get it nice and wet as he licks, teasing at the small hole. It takes patience to do it this way, to open him up without any fingers first, but Isaac thinks it’s worth it. He loves the way Stiles squirms against his tongue, musk deep and dark. He loves the way Stiles shifts, one hand almost dropping, then stopping as soon as Isaac pauses.

“Can you come just from this?” Isaac whispers, breath hot against skin. “Can you come from my tongue in your ass when I eat you up?” He pushes it in, fucking him slowly, matching the shift of Stiles’s hips with the thrust of his tongue. Stiles is open and sloppy wet, hips rolling; Isaac feels the stretch of Stiles’s panties over his hard cock.

Stiles shudders with a surprised sound, the scent of musk strong as he orgasms in his panties. He shivers; Isaac rises quickly, gathering Stiles in, letting the skirts fall as he picks him up and carries him to the sofa, cradling him close. By the time they sit, Isaac has his own pants shoved down and Stiles’s panties are gone, letting him straddle Isaac easily.

“Do you _really_ mind being Little Red all the time?” Isaac captures a kiss, swallows the words as Stiles whispers that he doesn’t mind, that he loves being Isaac’s girl. _Good_ , because Isaac loves it too, loves how perfect Stiles is for him.

Stiles rises, sinks down on Isaac’s cock. “Happily ever after,” he groans, taking him deep, whining when Isaac’s claws tip into his skin and grip his hips. “Oh _fuck_ , don’t stop.”

“I’ll fuck you until the end of time,” Isaac whispers. “I am never going to let you go.”

He buries himself in his heat, losing control in a rough orgasm when Stiles cries out again. Isaac could do this forever, be the Big Bad Wolf for his Little Red.

* * *

31.

 

**Title:** A Werewolf FurryTale

Stiles let himself and Derek in the unlocked back door of the house next to Scott and Kira’s after leading Derek through the gated fence adjoining the two properties. He liked the idea of that gate probably more than was wise. He flipped on the kitchen lights and grinned when his eyes landed on the packet of paper sitting conspicuously on the island counter.  


“I asked them to set this up over here, to give us a few private moments to talk,” Stiles said quietly, his heart beginning to race despite his best efforts. “I _know_ we agreed not to make any huge changes or any sudden decisions until I’d been home for at least the summer. I _know_.” Sucking in a deep breath, he gripped Derek’s hands harder. “I hadn’t planned to do any different, but then Scott called me a couple of weeks ago. His neighbors moved, listing this house for sale.” He released one of Derek’s hands and tugged the manila envelope closer, holding it up for Derek to take.  


Derek took the envelope slowly and carefully opened it. He tugged out the pages with Stiles staring intently at his face, looking for the moment when Derek understood and wanting to see that realization, to see how he instinctively felt about the idea. When Derek looked up to meet his gaze, shock evident in his eyes, Stiles blurted out, “Will you buy this house with me and move in?” He watched Derek open and close his mouth twice before Derek tossed the papers aside and yanked Stiles to him in a full body hug.  


“Are you serious?” Derek whispered against Stiles’ temple and sending shivers down his back.  


“Yes,” Stiles said. “I want to have our own home. One that we start our life together in.” He bit his lower lip before pressing forward into a brief kiss. “Please say yes.”  


Derek made a noise in his throat. “Yes, Stiles.”  


Stiles squealed softly and launched himself at Derek, kissing his firmly and clinging to his shoulders. He pushed Derek into the island and pressed forward until they were touching from chest to knees. “Fuck I love you, Derek Hale.”  


“I love you too,” Derek said, turning and lifting Stiles onto the island counter. He spread Stiles’ thighs and slid in close, running his hands up Stiles’ thighs to grip tightly at his hips.  


Moaning, Stiles tangled one hand in Derek’s hair and tugged him in for a deep kiss, wrapping his legs around Derek’s hips and encouraging him to rock into Stiles’ body. “Fuck,” Stiles moaned. “I want you so much. I’ve been thinking of this all day.”  


Derek chuckled and tugged Stiles in to rock his dick against Stiles’. “Me too. I wanted to see you well before the party.” He pushed Stiles back until he was laying flat, reaching out and flicking open the button Stiles’ jeans. Taking his time, Derek lowered the zipper and then tugged both jeans and boxers down. “I’m going to blow you until you can’t speak,” he said, lowering to lick around the head of Stiles’ dick.  


Stiles moaned and grabbed onto Derek’s hair with both hands. He cursed softly when Derek sucked the head of his cock and then pressed down to take him all the way in deep. Fingers clenching spastically, Stiles rocked his hips up when Derek pulled back and moaned at the way Derek pressed him down into the hardwood surface. Stiles forced his eyes open and watched the way that Derek worked at his dick; licking, sucking and deep throating in a pattern that Stiles couldn’t predict which left him trembling and crying out at each surprise. Faster than he would like to admit, Stiles cried out, asking for Derek to let him come.  


Flicking his eyes up to meet Stiles’, Derek curled his tongue around the head before sinking slowly down Stiles’ dick until his nose was pressed into Stiles’ abs. He swallowed around Stiles and held him down tight while Stiles convulsed through his orgasm, his screams no doubt easily heard by Scott next door.  


It took an effort for Stiles to open his eyes, his chest heaving with his shuddering breaths. Stiles smiled at Derek, tugging at his hair to bring him into a deep kiss that promised “forever” and “happily ever after”. 

* * *

32.

 

Little Red

It was Hallowe'en night. And in Beacon Hills that was always an adventure. Lydia pulled the vibrant red cape around her while looking down at the short ruffled skirt and the basket at her feet. She wasn't sure what possessed her to agree to this but at least she wouldn’t be alone. She stooped down, picked up the basket, and headed out.

Her heels made soft tapping sounds against the sidewalk as she heard some of the children making their rounds. Lydia turned on the side street that led to Stiles' house. She paused, thinking she heard something when she was grabbed quickly and pulled into the dark part of the street.

"Well what do we have here? On your way to grandma's house?"

Lydia was still startled but the voice was familiar and she rammed her elbow back, only catching a bit of body behind her. "What are you thinking? You scared me to death."

Peter smirked and leaned into kiss along her neck. "No, death would be very bad. Only good things tonight especially with you looking like that."

She turned back and laughed; she couldn't help it. Peter had a fuzzy wolf's head hat with paws on. It was too fitting and even more cliche and yet. "Nice ears."

"Oh I have nice everything, you know that," he smirked, his eyes shifting and glowing blue as he leaned in and kissed her deep and pulling her close and pressing against her. His hands slid down to her hips and were slowly moving under her skirt, fingers inching inside the front and teasing her as they found her clit. "We have time; I've missed you, missed this," came the reply, hot in her ear.

Pressing back against him, she couldn't help it, he had a way of moving, talking, touching her that she wanted so much. They weren't perfect but there was definitely chemistry between them and right then her need was for him. They could be a little late.

Peter knew he had her when his nose caught new scent and it was his Lydia being turned on. They didn't have much time but he didn't need it right at the moment. He pressed against her, pulling the skirt up so he was grinding against her thin lace panties. All the while his finger was teasing her, rubbing and sliding harder and faster. he didn't like to rush but sometimes it was a necessity. He sucked along her neck, grinding, touching, kissing. He growled in her ear; he was getting turned on and he wanted to make sure she knew this was only foreplay and it would be along time until they could be alone again.

Lydia moaned as her head dropped back against his chest as her hips pushed against his hands. "So good..... faster... more..." she breathed hard as he got her more aroused and was pushing her to release. And it didn't take long either. Even with the kids in the streets, she fought as much as she could to not scream as she whimpergroaned and came hard and pushed back against Peter's body.

There was nothing quite so intoxicating to Peter as the feel and sound of Lydia like that. His free arm wrapped around her and held her tight, lips gently against her ear as he was breathing hard himself. "Forget the others. Let me take you home," he said, his voice dangerously low. He eased his hand from beneath her skirt as he held her tighter.

She slumped a bit against him as she regained her senses and waited a bit to let her own breathing get back to normal as she turned her head, looking at him and leaning in, nipping at his jaw as she smiled slowly. "You know we can't do that Peter." Lydia leaned back to separate them a bit and straightened herself up. Everything back in place she started walking back toward her original destination. "But I like when we plan these "surprises". Always." She walked with a glance back to him and exaggerated the sway of her hips and a coy look on her face.

"You're the devil," he said growling softly as he righted himself and followed her. "Here there little Red Riding Hood, you're everything that a big bad wolf could want," he said in a sing-song voice as he moved up closer beside her. He liked their surprises as well. And there would be more that night too.

* * *

33.

 

Derek watched as Stiles cleaned the cuts on his cheek with cheap paper towels. As he stood watching Stiles wince, he wished he had thought ahead and sprung for a better brand. 

“Damn it! What asshole aims for the face?!” Stiles tossed the blood-stained towel in the sink. “And just when my father was backing off some...”

“It’s not that bad-”

Stiles shot him a look. “We can’t all have freaky healing powers.” 

Stepping closer, Derek reached out toward Stiles, fingers a hair’s length from his pale cheek. “I can help, you know.”

Stiles gave a tight shake of his head. “I’m fine. You already got to play knight in shining armor once tonight.” Stiles turned away from Derek and tossed the towels into the trashcan. “I can’t do anymore tonight. Maybe I can get Lydia to help cover it up tomorrow before school.”

Derek followed Stiles out into his bedroom. Derek expected Stiles to bolt out of his loft, but Stiles stood fidgeting with cuff of his sleeve, keeping his eyes focused on the items in the room and away from Derek’s face. The only items of interest in the room were a bed and a plastic storage tub for holding clothes. “I love the collage-dorm minimalist look you got going on here.”

Derek studied Stiles. His scent was distressed. He may have sounded like his snarky sarcastic self, but he was missing the bite that gave Stiles his... “Stiles-ness.”

“Your dad is not going to be mad at you. It’s not your fault you know.”

“Maybe not be _mad_. But needlessly worried?” Stiles sat on Derek’s bed. “After, you know, _everything_ , he was just always there, never letting me get too far, taking time off work. You know, I caught him sleeping in a chair in my room a handful of times?” 

Stiles sighed. “I get where he’s coming from. I did the same thing after mom died. I remember calling up the station from my after-school sitter’s place and crawling into his bed, because I was afraid he’d be gone in the morning.”

Derek sat down on the floor, back against the bed, close enough to let Stiles know he was there for him.

“I just hate knowing, that not even two months later, I’ll be putting him through it again.” Stiles rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“But worrying about someone is part of loving them, right?” 

“Dude, I know! I know Scott took it hard and slept out my window for a week. And Melissa gave me that look, like she couldn’t bake cookies fast enough to make the pain go away.” 

Stiles took a deep breath. “And, yes, I know Lydia and Isaac were worried. And you...why did you even come back, Derek?”

“Something my mother told me, and-” Derek’s mouth went dry as the rest of the words stuck to his tongue.

“Really?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles’s slack-jawed stare.

“Do you care about me, Derek? Are we friends?” Stiles sang the last word, waggling his own eyebrows. 

Derek lowered his eyebrows, giving Stiles a scowl.

“What’s wrong, Derek? You don’t want to be my friend?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Stiles visibly deflated. “Okay. I’ll just go-”

Grabbing Stiles’s wrist, Derek pulled Stiles toward him and took possession of his lips.

It didn’t take Stiles’s brain long to join in and entangle his fingers in the small hairs on Derek’s neck, pulling him close. Derek inhaled deeply, the scent of Stiles sharp in his nose.

Derek shifted his legs, dragging Stiles down into his lap. The weight of Stiles pressed against his thighs. Derek’s throat rumbled at the feel of himself between Stiles.

Pulling away, Stiles breathed heavily. “Oh… _wow_.”

“Wow?” Derek’s eyes followed Stiles’s tongue as it ran across his lower lip.

“Wow. Just… _wow_.”

“If I knew a kiss could reduce you to monocyclic sounds, I would have kissed you a long time ago.”

“‘Wow’ is good, you know.” Stiles tilted his head. “How long ago?”

Derek shifted under Stiles. “Before either of us became a knight in shining armor.”

Stiles gave a little snort. “That sounds cheesy when you say it.”

“Oh, really?” Derek lifted one brow. “Because I was about to call you my hero, and ask if we will live happily ever after.”

Stiles’s grin was infectious as he tossed his arms over Derek’s shoulders. “I think we are all overdue for some happily ever after.”

* * *

34.

“None of you smell anything?”

“It’s the gasoline,” Scott said, “it overshadows everything else.”

Stiles stared at the worker’s boot that stood on the McCall’s living room table around which Scott’s pack had collected. Brown leather, thick sole, reinforced toe cap, mud stains, brand marked by a small steel star. Stiles had only come over for Scott’s help, but Scott was in the middle of a pack meeting and the more eyes, the better, right? Stiles had found the boot as he threw away a tissue in the trash can in the bathroom adjacent to his dad’s bedroom. There, it had laid with an empty condom wrapper on top. Cleary, an investigation was in order.

“Maybe your father killed someone and burned their corpse,” Derek, leaning against the wall, drawled.

“Hey!” Stiles snapped. “My dad’s clever enough not to get rid of evidence in his own bathroom.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said, raising a brow, “implying _that_ would be terrible.”

“Couldn’t it be his own?” Erica supplied.

“Not his size. It could be woman’s, though,” Stiles said. “If she didn’t care about dressing up because she knows my dad well?”

Stiles glanced at Scott. Their parents falling for each other was something they’d hoped for since Scott’s dad had up and left. How great would it be to live in the same house with your best buddy? However, Scott shrugged.

“It _could_ be my mom’s, I guess. Doesn’t seem like her style, though.”

“Maybe it belongs to a colleague. Police officers need sturdy shoes,” Boyd said from his spot between Erica and Isaac.

“Possible,” Stiles decided. “Anyway, my dad’s into women, so it has to be a woman’s shoe.”

“Are you sure? You know what he did before he met your mom?” Isaac asked.

“Or who,” Lydia chimed in, chipper.

“No, I never discussed my dad’s sexual history with him,” Stiles said, horrified. “Why would I want to know that?”

“Since _my_ mom’s sexual history was a major part of our lives recently, I can relate,” Kira said, after clearing her throat, “but it might be important here.”

Sadly, she wasn’t wrong. “I’m going to have to see if he keeps old photos hidden somewhere... God, I hope he doesn’t have any nude pictures.” Stiles shuddered.

“Couldn’t we just ask people to try and put it on?” Malia offered.

“It’d fit a lot of people, it’s a common size,” Boyd argued. His words were half cut off by the doorbell.

When Scott opened the door, his eyes grew wide and the shoe was forgotten as he looked at a brightly smiling Allison.

“The doctor released me a week early,” she answered his unasked question.

“Well... great. Come in!” Scott moved out of the way. “Everyone’s here.”

A general chorus of surprised greetings sounded as Allison entered the room and Lydia was the first on her feet to hug her. The huntress beamed at them, but frowned as she noticed the boot on the table.

“Is that... what’s my dad’s shoe doing here?”

*It had been strange, going to John’s bedroom and knowing that his daughter, after a long talk between them, in which Chris thanked some higher power for his loving, understanding child, was downstairs in the Stilinski’s guest room and Stiles was just down the hall. They’d hidden successfully for five months, convinced their kids weren’t ready to be told, but of course, in the end it was a small detail that screwed them over.

As they went out hunting tuesday night, Chris had stumbled, gasoline bottle in hand, from the life-giving tree that grew on the bank by an undead witch’s watery grave as her doves had pecked at his face. One shoe had gotten stuck in the mud and swallowed by the swamp. The lone survivor, sloshed with gasoline, had gone in the bin after John and Chris had celebrated not dying.

“Knowing you’ll stay the night makes me want to keep you busy,” John murmured into the crook of Chris’ neck as he lazily moved against him, his cock pressing against Chris’ thigh. “Thank God for Stiles’ curiosity.”

“You encourage your son going through your things, then?”

John made an indefinite noise which faded into a low moan when Chris nipped at his ear and started moving his leg.

“Honestly? If I knew how to stop him, I would’ve ten years ago. I just accept when good comes of it now.”

Hard to argue with that. Chris pulled the sheriff up and into a kiss instead.

* * *

35.

 

Derek didn’t fit in with the rest of the fairies. He liked to sit and read while the rest of them flitted and flew about spreading pixie dust over the land. He was the one who would go out running alone in the forest while the rest of the fairies gathered together and danced in the moonlight. Even his wings didn’t fit in, sure they simmered and glittered like all fairy wings should but his were black and dark as night while all the other fairies glowed and shimmered in fairy- bright colours.

Derek was used to it. He was used to being the odd fairy out. That is until this new fairy showed up. Stiles was his name, he had wings that glowed a deep chocolate brown, that flitted and fluttered as he talked. He did a lot of talking, laughing too. Stiles would laugh with his whole body and Derek was slightly obsessed with it..not that he would let anyone know this. Nope, Derek wasn’t going to let Stiles know anything and about the fact that Derek would daydream about the way Stiles eyes would go impossibly wide when he laughed. 

Nope, not letting Stiles know about anything like that. That is until they got locked in the pixie dust refinery together after the foremen went home for the day. Don’t even ask how it happened. Derek had the worst luck and apparently it led him directly to Stiles.

The evil sorcerer had somehow magicked it so that Stiles was straddling Derek’s lap while Derek was tied to the only chair in the the storage room.

“Stiles if you don’t stop squirming,” Derek growled into the side of Stiles neck.

“Well, what else do you expect me to do? Not like I can do anything else in this position,” Stiles squirmed some more.

“The chair is bolted down. How did he find the only bolted down chair in the land?” Derek groaned and tried to forcefully lift the chair off the floor with his feet.

Stiles stiffened above him and tried to move away from him, “You're not?”

“I can’t help it. All this stimulation what else do you expect?” Stiles said while staring at the wall beyond Derek’s eye, “plus the fact you are unfairly hot and I’ve kind of wanted you since I first saw you.” he whispered.

Derek stopped and held completely still not believing his ears. Stiles liked him. Stiles who could have any fairy out there liked him.

Derek got a wicked gleam in his eye and started rolling his hips beneath Stiles.

Stiles pulled his head back and looked in Derek’s eyes, “ What are you doing?” He said suspiciously.

Nothing Derek said as he continued to roll his hips. He let his wings fall forward cocooning them in a shade of black and shimmer.

“You are so doing that on purpose,” Stiles groaned and started meeting Derek thrust for thrust. “Oh god, I love your wings.”

Derek speeded up his thrusts against Stiles both of them working for their release. Stiles wings fluttering inside Derek’s both of them rubbing against each other adding to the friction between them.

Derek stiffened and came seconds before Stiles did both of them panting into each other’s faces within the cocoon of Derek’s wings.

“I guess this means you like me too?” Stiles asked, a hopeful look on a his face.

Derek just grinned and caught his lips in a sweet kiss breaking it only to say, “I guess you could say that.”

A bright light flashed in the room and Stiles fell off the chair as the magic dissipated from the room.

Derek just stared at him as he broke into peals of laughter.

“Dude, we did not just break that spell with true love’s kiss.” Stiles laughed.

Derek blushed and offered his hand to help Stiles up.

“Knight in shining armour at your service,” Derek grinned and tried the door which opened immediately as they walked out hand in hand.

* * *

36.

 

“Good morning my wildlife adjacent friends!” Stiles sang as he walked into Derek’s loft.

“Uh, hi?” Scott replied, giving Stiles a weird look.

“Isn’t it a _beautiful_ day?” Stiles continued in his oddly melodic tone. He crossed the room to the windows and tried to push one of the panes open but, turned out, Derek’s windows didn’t open. Instead Stiles smiled dreamily and laid his head against the glass, staring out over the city with a look of—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Stiles turned around and gave Derek the biggest, sparkliest grin anyone in Beacon Hills like ever had grinned or ever would again.

“I’m waiting for my One True Love to arrive and sweep me off my feet and be with me forever!” Stiles exclaimed, clasping his hands in front of him.

Derek and Scott looked at each other for a split second before they hurried into action.

“I’ll check in with Deaton, see if he has anything on this.”

“I’ll start looking here and watch over… uh, Stiles.”

Scott rushed out the door while Derek pulled some books off his shelves and started to flip through them. 

Stiles stayed by the window and pined.

All was well and good for about a half hour when Stiles turned around abruptly and made sweeping motions towards the door. Derek didn’t even look up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I’ve got to search for my One True Love. He’s out there somewhere, looking for me,” Stiles stated and kept moving towards the door. 

“Right,” Derek replied flatly. 

Before Stiles could reach the sliding door Derek was in front of him, blocking his way.

“I must insist you move,” Stiles said, standing tall in front of Derek. 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “ _I_ must insist you stay, sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

“You are standing in the way of true love!” Stiles spat indignantly.

“No, I’m standing in the way of you getting your ass kicked,” Derek growled. He grabbed Stiles by the arm and started to drag him away from the door. “Come on, before I have to tie you up.”

“This is _unacceptable_!” Stiles yelled and struggled against Derek who caught onto Stiles with both hands, trying to keep him under control without hurting him. Stiles definitely had more definition and muscle on him than it looked but he was no match for Derek’s werwolf strength.

As gently as he could Derek shoved Stiles up against the wall and held him there by his shoulders, angling his hips to hold Stiles’ legs down from kicking at him.

“I need to seek out my One True Love’s kiss or I’ll perish!” Stiles yelled and bucked his hips up against Derek’s.  
And that was not what Derek was expecting. 

Apparently neither was his dick.

“Settle down,” Derek snarled, feeling his features start to shit just a little.

“Are you a monster, sent to keep us apart?” Stiles demanded, eyes widening. “I’ll slay you where you stand, heathen! I’ll put a sword between your—“

“Slay this,” Derek muttered, then leaned forward and caught Stiles’ mouth with his own. For a second Stiles went still, then he _surged_ into the kiss.

Stiles wrestled his arms away from Derek and wrapped them around his neck, pulling Derek closer. Derek crowded him against the wall and all but enveloped him.

Stiles opened his mouth and let out a sigh as Derek’s tongue sought out his. Stiles ran his hands up Derek’s neck and through his hair, letting his nails scrape over Derek’s scalp. In return Derek shuddered against Stiles and let out a grunt that made Stiles grin against his mouth.

“Guess I didn’t need to go searching for a true love’s kiss after all,” Stiles mumbled.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Derek muttered back. Stiles pulled back a bit and frowned at Derek but then he grinned.

“How about a true love’s blow job?” Stiles suggested. Derek snorted but sank to his knees without complaint.

* * *

37.

**In The Name Of Love**

 

Once upon a time there were two boys, Scott and Isaac, who were dearly in love with each other. Scott had courted Isaac patiently for many months until, at long last, the boy had given and visited Scott in his room for the first time.

Isaac's eyes sparkled with excitement, and Scott couldn't help but kiss him, feeling like he would he die if he had to wait any longer. The kiss was chaste, but sweet nonetheless.

After a short while, Isaac slid a hand under Scott's shirt; hesitantly, his fingers trailed up Scott's chest until they found a nipple. Scott moaned softly, and Isaac smiled, but shook his head when Scott suggested that they take their shirts off altogether.

“I am thirsty,” Isaac said. “Please bring me a glass of water.”

Scott frowned, but he complied nonetheless.

When he had drunk, Isaac took off his shirt without further hesitation.

Scott kissed his way from Isaac's neck to his collarbone, following its curve; sighing, Isaac curled a hand into Scott's hair, but not to stop him.

“More,” he whispered, closing his eyes. When Scott nipped at his hipbone, he arched up with a moan.

For a while, Isaac surrendered to the caresses, but he shook his head once again when Scott suggested that they take off their pants.

“The light is too bright,” Isaac said. “Please close the curtains.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but he complied nonetheless.

When the room lay in twilight, Isaac undressed without further hesitation and sank down on the bed. His chest heaved and his lashes fluttered; it was the most beautiful sight Scott had ever seen. He dipped his head and flicked his tongue over the tip of Isaac's cock, pleased when the boy's breath hitched.

He continued until Isaac was but a bundle of hushed moans and involuntary jerks, yet just when Scott thought the boy must break any moment now, he stopped him for a third time.

“There is something I need to know,” Isaac said.

Scott looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What is it?”

Isaac's lower lip trembled when he asked, “How much do you love me?”—and Scott understood.

He lay down beside him and pulled him into his arms. Softly brushing a strand of hair from Isaac's forehead, Scott answered truthfully: “I love you so much that I can't eat or sleep, nor think or breathe without you. I would never hurt you, never betray you, never be unfaithful; I'd rather die. There is nothing that I wouldn't do for you. But you know all this, don't you?”

Isaac hummed. “I do,” he smiled. “I just can't hear it enough.” He trailed his fingertips along Scott's jawline and over his lips. “I love you just the same. And more. So much more.”

“I know,” Scott said, kissing Isaac's hand. “And now that we said it, can we stop this stupid fairy tale role play and just fuck like rabbits? Please?”

Isaac gave him a playful slap on the arm. “I like fairy tales. But I agree on the 'fucking like rabbits' part.”

And that's what they did all night.

* * *

38.

Title: RED

Ally A has gone away, where no one can quite find her.

Everyone says that the red queen is a devil in disguise. Mop of curls and shiny green eyes, lips like a poison apple.

Allison is afraid to meet her. Much like she’s been fearful of everyone within the trees of Wonderland. You pay for passage by parting your legs in this world and Allison does because it’s better than going back home and being locked into nothingness.

There are two cruel twins she wants to call Tweedledee and Tweedledum. They have sharp smiles and sharper claws, but Allison makes them think it was their idea when she takes one for a ride. The other watches. Not her, but his twin, and by the time she finishes Aiden off, Ethan is coaxing his brother into his embrace.

Allison edges away from them but one calls out to her.

“Not that way. The Queen of Hearts is called that for a reason, you know?”

Allison just tips her head with a smile, and she misses Aiden turn to ash in his brother’s arms.

Next she meets a cheeky fox who calls himself the Cheshire. Mostly, he looks like a boy with elongated features and moles that dot his skin. His grin is all wide and mischievous and all he asks for is a kiss, but one she didn’t expect to give. His tongue is sandpaper against her clit, and she gets off quickly enough. He stays buried in her sopping curls for minutes, scenting at her wetness.

“Will you tell me which way to go from here?” dear Allison asks.

“This way or that?” he asks, sliding up her body until his tongue is against Allison’s cheek. “Why choose where, when each produce a scare?”

“The Red Queen,” Allison demands and the Cheshire’s grin goes saccharine instead of sneering. The lengthened features turn less frightening, and his teeth look less sharp.

“Through the garden,” he obliges and his leer disappears along with his body.

The garden is sad and startling. It has two handsome boys who look pretty when they cry. They probably would in death as well. Derek is all dressed in dark and tells her of the demise in Wonderland.

“The Red Queen,” he says. “They fall when she screams.”

Scott stares at her with shiny eyes until she crawls nimbly into his lap. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says.

“Shh,” Allison quiets with a kiss to his brow. Scott holds her waist hard when she tells him it’s time for her to go.

“Stay,” he whispers, but she sees the castle and beating butterfly wings lead her on.

The palace looks dangerous, but there are no guards, only thorny vines and a moat of blood. The drawbridge is down though and Allison follows the apprehension in her stomach. It leads her forward to the front steps, where a weeping woman sits atop them. Her ruddy curls and painted mouth push Allison to come closer.

“Are you the red queen?” Allison asks, and guilty green eyes look up at her.

“Not that I asked for it,” the girl says and her sorrow is so thick Allison can taste it. “Oh, Allison.”

“You know who I am?” she asks.

“And I’ll never forget,” the queen promises, and then she’s standing, taking Allison’s face into her hands and pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“What do you mean?” Allison asks, but then the queen is pressing her lipstick red lips against Allison’s and clutching her close. The very breath in Allison’s lungs seem to leave for a moment. She closes her eyes and sucks on Lydia’s lower lip. The name just comes to her and so do the memories. A rush of them against her eyelids and a punch of pain along her side.

She gasps at the feeling and when she opens them, Lydia is leaning over her, hand against her cheek. Allison doesn’t know when she got on the ground.

“He said I couldn’t save you,” Lydia tells her.

“Who?” Allison asks.

“The fox,” Lydia says, “but he also said we couldn’t kill him.”

Lydia leans down, shares a breath or two with Allison before pushing in for another kiss.

* * *

39.

 

Once upon a time in a faraway land known as California there was a teenage boy in dire need of an orgasm. Not just any orgasm, but the kind of bone melting, muscle relaxing orgasm that made all of your troubles fade away.

The teenage boy, known by the slightly unconventional name of Stiles, had tired of the wrist aches and awkward angles that came from fingering himself and decided he needed to get a dildo. Being a master of research he quickly found the online retailer known as Goldicocks and immediately ordered the toy known as the Big Bad Wolf.

Unfortunately, he soon found out that the toy was much too big. If Stiles didn't know better, he'd think it was two dicks merged into one and no matter how much he lubed and he stretched, it wasn't the right fit. 

Stiles was feeling increasingly desperate—and just a little bit sore—so he ordered again. This time his only concern was for it to be smaller—much smaller—and he ordered a dildo that was long and thin. It was called Digging Deep and he was hopeful that finally he would be able to hit that elusive spot.

When the toy arrived it was immediately apparent that the reality did not live up to the hype. Try though he might—and he did try—the dildo was just a little too short. No matter how vigorously he pushed and twisted he just couldn't get deep enough. Stiles could feel his climax just out of reach and in his frustration he threw the dildo across the room.

Determined to get a refund for the misnamed dildo, Stiles emailed customer service. He made sure to include a diagram of the male anatomy with thorough notations as to why the dildo they advertised as long was in fact not. His frustration was rewarded with a complimentary replacement.

The new dildo was their best seller from a very popular line. It was a guaranteed winner, certified Alpha product of the year in 2012, but Stiles was skeptical. It looked good and it felt good, but it was missing something. He was finally able to get off, the dildo managing to hit his prostate when he angled it just right, but it was too much work. He wanted a dildo to make his orgasms less work not more.

Stiles had all but given up, resigning himself to a life of aching wrists and mediocre orgasms when he got an email from Goldicocks advertising their new products. There in front of him was the most beautiful dildo he'd ever seen. It wasn't too long or too short. It wasn't overly big or too small. Best of all it curved slightly, just enough that Stiles _knew_ it would easily hit his prostate.

He wasted no time ordering and when it arrived the Boy's Best Friend was even better than he'd hoped. It felt right in his hand, comfortable like it had always been there. The curved shaft hit his prostate almost immediately and made him see stars. Each thrust was better than the last and he finally managed to achieve the orgasm he'd always dreamed of.

And so our hero finally found the dildo that fit him just right and lived happily ever after…

**

Stiles jerked awake. "Fuck."

"Stiles?" Scott asked. He was sitting in the chair next to the bed. Ever since the incident with the Nogitsune, Scott hadn't left Stiles alone. "Are you okay?"

"I just had a dream about dildos and I think I'm in love with you."

Scott blinked at him. "What?"

Stiles scrubbed his hand through his hair and sat up, suddenly uncomfortably aware that his boxers were sticky. Great he'd had a wet dream about Scott. "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, dude."

Scott stared at him a moment longer before smiling. "Good. Cause this whole possession thing made me realize that I'm pretty into you, too."

"Really?" Stiles asked. He was so not used to having his affections returned.

"I wouldn't lie to you," Scott said. He moved over and sat next to Stiles. "I'd _never_ lie to you."

"I know," Stiles whispered. He leaned closer to Scott. "You're my best friend."

Scott closed the distance, pressing their lips together, and for the first time Stiles thought that he might actually get a happily ever after.

* * *

40.

“Isn't your dog adorable!” the old woman cooed. “Would he like a treat?”

Before Stiles could correct the woman to inform her that this was actually a wolf and that he was on a strict diet, she was giving Derek a dog treat, and Derek, greedy as he was, was gobbling it down. Later he would justify to Stiles that it would have been rude to refuse a treat, not to mention draw suspicion. But Stiles knew that Derek secretly liked the taste of dog biscuits—in his wolf form anyway. Then again, Derek liked anchovies in both his forms, so he was generally not to be trusted with culinary matters.

It was only after Derek collapsed into a pile of leaves that Stiles realized, one, they were miles away from civilization, and two, that old woman was most definitely a witch. He should have known. What Stiles had taken for a delighted laugh was clearly a cackle.

The good news was that when Derek collapsed, he transformed back into his human form. Getting Derek unstuck out of wolf form was an experience Stiles hoped to never, ever re-live. The bad news was that Derek was completely naked and comatose.

“Derek?” Stiles kicked him in the side. “Derek this isn’t funny.”

Stiles sighed. He didn’t get cell reception in the woods, and all of his research materials were on his laptop in the Jeep, also miles away.

“Let’s go for a run on the preserve, he said. It’ll help build your stamina, he said,” Stiles muttered as he dragged Derek's heavy body off the path.

It was unlikely anyone would stumble back into the preserve this far, but apparently it was teeming with witches, so one couldn’t be too careful. His intention was to stash Derek’s body and then go retrieve his Rolodex of poisons to find whatever Derek had ingested this time.

Once he got Derek hidden under some low-hanging branches, he started to examine him for any clues that might help narrow down the poison.

The main symptom so far as Stiles could tell was that Derek’s body was starting to stiffen. Then Stiles realized that Derek's dick was also stiffening—not in a body-is-slowly-filling-with-poison type of way, more in a Stiles-I-need-to-fuck-you-right-now type of way.

Stiles never could resist Derek’s dick.

Stiles hesitated. Derek was clearly still breathing, no rashes were appearing on his skin, and he wasn’t bleeding. In fact, he looked like he was resting peacefully.

“As long as we’re here,” Stiles said with a shrug.

He got down, straddled Derek’s stiffened legs, and looked at his very much alive, very erect cock. He looked around to make sure the witch was long gone. With the coast clear, he bent forward and licked from Derek’s balls all the way up to the head of his cock, planting a kiss when he reached the tip.

Then he wrapped his lips around it and went down as far as he could. He licked his way sloppily back up and sucked Derek’s cock back into his mouth. He went slow, repeating the process over and over. Usually Derek got impatient and wouldn’t sit still long enough for Stiles to really take his time, letting him enjoy the taste and the feel. He could spend a whole afternoon with his tongue on Derek, sucking his dick, licking his balls, maybe eating his ass. Basically, he just wanted to devour Derek, and Derek was too fidgety and impatient to let him.

Stiles kept tabs on Derek’s pulse. It was not only still beating, but starting to race. Derek’s dick was responding, too. It was getting harder, and Stiles could feel Derek’s balls tightening, a sure sign that even though the rest of Derek’s body was paralyzed, he could still come.

Then Stiles caught movement out of the corner of his eye and felt a hand gripping his hair.

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, pushing Stiles’ head down.

Stiles would have gasped in surprise had his mouth not been filling with come. When Derek was finished, Stiles sat back, sputtering.

“How long have you been awake?”

“The spell broke as soon as you kissed it. True love’s kiss doesn’t specify _where_ the kiss has to be.”

“So you’ve been awake this whole time? You asshole!”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

And so Stiles and the asshole-wolf lived happily ever after.

41.

Panting heavily, Stiles arches and groans, sweat pooling at the small of his back.  
  
“Yes, that’s it,” he manages, clutching desperately at the sheets when Derek gets the angle just right. He’s so close, and Derek is relentless when he pushes back in, over and over until Stiles has to close his eyes to keep himself from coming.  
  
“Come on,” Derek coaxes, voice rough, as he plasters his front to Stiles’ back, pressing his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck.  
  
Stiles can feel Derek’s heavy breathing, hear the slapping sounds of skin as their bodies connect again and again.  
  
“Come on,” Derek says again. “Come for me.”  
  
And Stiles does. Just like that. Shuddering like he’s falling apart, his body zeroing in on Derek’s hot breath against his sticky skin and the small groan that pushes past Derek’s lips when he comes.  
  
“Go out on a date with me,” Stiles mumbles a while later face buried in a pillow. He still feels a little out of it, and he’s going to blame that tomorrow. Because _this_ , this is a casual thing, and now he’s just announced that he wants to take things a step further.  
  
Derek’s silence makes him tense, makes his brain race and there’s that unsettling shiver running down his spine. Everything’s ruined. He knows, as the turns his head slightly, glancing over at Derek who’s staring at him. He’s not wearing the expression Stiles expected. There’s no trace of pity, like he feels bad about turning Stiles down. Instead, a corner of his mouth is turned slightly upward, and he’s just everything Stiles wants in his life, with the mess of his hair and dark stubble.  
  
“Yeah,” Derek says.  
  
\--  
  
It’s nothing spectacular. They’ve known each other forever. Fucked for years. Despite that, it’s still weird to see Derek in a white button-up and dark slacks. He looks so goddamn perfect.  
  
“So this,” Stiles points at the apple pie in front of him. “Tastes funny. I bet they didn’t clean the chemicals off the apples before using them. If I get poisoned, you know why.”  
  
Derek snorts, but the way his eyes crinkle at the corners gives him away. Stiles’ insides turns to mush.  
  
Outside his apartment building, three hours later, Derek reaches out for his hand and pulls him closer. Stiles doesn’t know why he thinks of it as a big deal, that he’s about to get his first date-kiss from Derek. He’s had about a thousand kisses from Derek before.  
  
But just as Derek leans in, Stiles only has a second to register that his legs are giving out, and then everything goes black.  
  
\--  
  
The first thing Stiles sees when he opens his eyes is Derek staring back at him. As his vision clears, Stiles notices there are dark circles under Derek’s eyes, and Derek gives him a little bit more space.  
  
  
“It worked,” Stiles hears him say to someone else.  
  
  
“What worked?” Stiles tries, but it comes out as a rough, garbled mess. Derek seems to understand anyway.  
  
“You’ve been out for two weeks,” Derek says, like that explains anything.  
  
“You’ve been unconscious,” Scott fills in, stepping into view.  
  
A few years back, Stiles would’ve been terrified by these news. Nowadays, though, it’s like he’s just happy that he didn’t wake up to someone telling him that he’s dead. Instead, he mentally scans his body. He feels sore, but everything seems intact.

Then it hits him.  
  
“The apples?” When both Scott and Derek nod, he feels like someone, somewhere, is laughing at him. He slowly sits up, blinking away the last of his blurry vision. “So then you cured me with…”  
  
“A kiss,” Derek supplies.  
  
Scott nods, beaming. “Like in the movie.”  
  
When Derek gives him a look – a give-us-some-privacy look – Scott smiles and disappears out the door.  
  
Groaning, Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “Wow, someone must really hate me. I missed out on the end of my date because of some asshole.”  
  
Derek smirks. “I’m sure there’s a ball we could attend, Snow White.”  
  
“That’s Cinderella, but yes, I’d like that. Plus the _Happily Ever After_.”  
  
Derek narrows his eyes, but Stiles can still see the playful glint. “I already saved your life, what more do you want?”  
  
“How about a first-date kiss I can actually remember?”  
  
“Let’s see what I can do.”  
  
This time, as Derek presses their lips together, Stiles’ legs don’t give out. However, he’s not surprised to feel his breath taken away.

* * *

42.

By the time the fairy dust dissipated, Scott had deep-throated Isaac, Lydia and Allison had made out in the rain, and Derek had fucked Stiles over about ten different surfaces around the house.

Nobody looked at anybody else.

Stiles raised a hand. “While I’m sure you’re all feeling the effects of the traumatic experiences you’ve gone through, let me just say that I may never walk normally again.”

Derek made a sort of whimpering noise into his jacket. He’d been hiding for a while now.

Scott’s eyes were still wide and horrified. “I’m sorry,” he said. Stiles wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Possibly all of them.

The image of Isaac holding Scott’s head, fingers twisted in his hair as he thrust hard and fast into Scott’s mouth was fried onto Stiles’ brain. It should _not_ have been as hot as he’d found it.

“Baby, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Allison assured him, her cheeks still rosy. “We were all just affected by the fairy dust.”

Lydia’s gaze was speculative. “I’m not so sure,” she mused.

Derek finally lifted his head, tips of his ears still bright red. Stiles would have been amused if he wasn’t aching in every part of his body. “What do you mean?” Derek asked, eyebrows looming dangerously.

Stiles still felt Derek’s perfect, amazingly delicious cock pounding into him. His lips were numb and his ass was still sticky with come and on fire. He’d never felt better.

Lydia tapped a finger against her swollen lips. Stiles tried not to remember Allison’s tongue tangling with Lydia’s. It was a totally futile effort. Fucking hot is what it was. “Focus,” Lydia ordered Stiles.

“Astound us with your wisdom, my goddess.” Stiles winced as his muscles twinged. Derek fucked like a werewolf and Stiles was going to feel it for days.

“You’re the moron who made the wish,” Lydia levelled a glare at him. “You understand that this is entirely your fault?”

“She was a pretty lady with red hair!” Stiles protested. “How was I supposed to know what she was up to?”

“Because bad shit happens all the time in Beacon Hills?” Isaac offered. He sat pressed up against Scott.

Stiles wondered why Scott wasn’t all up in Allison’s space. But no, Lydia and Allison were holding hands, sharing the other chair. Derek, despite the jacket and the ears, was a long line of heat against Stiles’ side.

Huh.

“What _exactly_ did you say to her?” Lydia asked.

Stiles frowned, trying to remember. “She asked me if I was happy here.”

“Oh god,” Derek made another small noise that was sort of pathetically adorable. Stiles’ patted his well-muscled thigh. Derek moved a little closer.

“And?” Lydia prompted. “What did you tell her? The words, Stiles.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. Derek’s big palm pushed his hand away, taking up the soothing motion. “I told her that I had the best friends in the world, and that we were all just one big happy family.” He blinked. “Uh.”

“What?” Lydia’s eyes were sharp.

“I may have actually said one big happy fucking family.” Stiles hunched over when five pairs of eyes zoomed in on him. “Oops.”

“Oops?” Derek’s voice was a low roar. “I’ve seen things I never want to remember, Stiles. I fucked you on the hood of my car, Stiles. And you say ‘Oops’?”

“Maybe she thought happy fucking family meant exactly that,” Allison tried to help. Stiles blew her a kiss.

“Well,” Scott’s tone was thoughtful. “I didn’t _not_ enjoy it.” He cleared his throat. “It was actually really, pretty good.” He blushed a little as he sneaked a peek at Isaac, who had gone starry-eyed. Literally.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Allison admitted, squeezing Lydia’s hand. “I mean, if it happened again.”

Derek flinched when Stiles leaned closer. “And you big guy, you down with having all of this all the time?” He waved a hand up and down his own body.

“I hate everything,” Derek told them, and pounced.

It seemed to be the signal they were all waiting for. Scott lunged for Isaac, fingers scrabbling at his jeans. Lydia swung her leg over Allison’s and pressed the wettest kiss Stiles had ever seen onto her mouth.

If Stiles had seen it, that is.

His vision was filled with Derek’s stupid face as he wrapped his big hand around their cocks, and gave them their own version of happily ever after.

* * *

43.

 

It wasn't that they had nearly died - they had. It wasn't that Stiles had realized suddenly that maybe his feelings for Derek were more intense than he had previously thought - they were. It was that in the heat of the fight, Derek moments from being Wendigo chow, Stiles realized that he hadn't had enough time yet with him. Not enough conversations and arguments. Not enough late nights and early mornings. Not enough longing stares and irritated glares. Not enough kisses. And, god, not enough sex.

So when they found themselves in Derek's bedroom, skin freshly clean of Wendigo viscera and smelling of Derek's soap, Stiles wasn't surprised that clothes never even made a reappearance. Instead, they blanketed themselves in the darkness of the room, falling back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and desire. Their lips never separated long enough to discuss what they were doing, their bodies automatically falling into the rhythm that came as easy to them as breathing.

Stiles was on his back, head tilted back as Derek mouthed hungrily at his neck, sucking and nipping at the skin, almost certainly leaving a trail of dark marks in his wake. For once, Stiles couldn't be bothered to complain, not when they had nearly died tonight. Instead, he clung to Derek, arms grappling at his back, fingers digging into warm skin as he arched up against Derek, craving every touch Derek gave him. "God... Derek, please," Stiles whimpered, hips rolling up against Derek's, desperately seeking the friction his body craved.

Derek caved and rocked down against Stiles, their cocks brushing together sending a flood of pleasure through Stiles' body, making him cry out with the intensity of it. "Fuck... Der-" he gasped, his words being cut off by Derek's mouth, hot and insistent on his own.

The kiss was filthy and hungry and Stiles felt as if he were drowning in it, in the wet slide of their tongues, the press of Derek's teeth into the soft skin of his bottom lip, the hot breath they shared with the moans and gasps they couldn't hold in. They kissed and writhed, their bodies pressed tightly together, each roll of their hips sending shocks of pleasure through their veins until all semblance of rhythm was lost. They moved against each other, their cocks slick with pre-come, Stiles voice loud in the room, moans and whines echoing off the walls.

Derek tilted his head and buried his face in against Stiles' neck, breathing deep as he moved with a purpose, lips pressing below Stiles' ear. He was murmuring something against Stiles' skin as his hips began to stutter and it was only just before Stiles was coming that he was able to string together the syllables in his mind, his body arching up against Derek's, fingernails digging into his back as he cried out Derek's name. Derek's body tensed and he followed just moments later with a strangled groan, his come hot and sticky, mixing with Stiles' on his stomach.

It took a long time for them to come down, Derek a heavy weight on top of Stiles, his face still buried in against his neck. Stiles held onto him, not wanting to let go and lose that contact. Derek was whispering into his ear again and Stiles smiled as he recognized the same words from before, a rough but sincere, "Marry me?"

Stiles closed his eyes and let out a soft breath, tilting his head to leave a kiss to Derek's temple. "Yes," he said, the simplicity of the word hiding just how huge a moment this was.

Derek made a sound in his throat, something between a laugh and a sob and he was shifting up and kissing Stiles, lips moving over Stiles' jaw until he found his mouth, kissing him hard and deep, whispering when he finally pulled back to breath. "I promise it'll be good, we'll be good."

Stiles grinned, eyes sparkling with joy. "What, we'll live happily ever after?"

Derek leaned in to kiss Stiles once more, quick and soft. "Something like that."

* * *

44.

Derek Hale is fifteen when his life changes forever.

His paws skid in damp earth at the furthest reaches of Hale land, mouth closing around the wriggling sprite he's been chasing. He toys with it and shakes his muzzle this way and that as the creature struggles to break free.

The sprite begs for mercy, pledging to make Derek's dreams come true if only Derek will spare her life.

Intrigued, Derek releases the sprite from his jaws, holds her underfoot and shifts to human form.

She thanks Derek profusely for his kindness, then waves her little hand, conjuring a coin and offering it to Derek. She instructs him to rub his thumb across the face three times prior to making his wish, then tells Derek to wish wisely, for the coin shall only work thrice.

Derek tosses the coin in his palm, testing its heft and considering the possibilities. He first thinks of peace between Hunters and Werewolves, then limitless riches and popularity. But young Derek has a large family and very little of his own. He remembers the way Paige smiled at him, the feeling of her lips against his, and wishes for the courage to fall in love again.

The sprite bows deeply and says it will be so. Then, with one final flourish, she vanishes into thin air.

The very next day, the principal introduces Derek's class to the new substitute teacher. She catches Derek's eye and gives him a sharp, seductive smile. He is immediately smitten.

Alas, this part of the story did not have a happy ending, but Derek perseveres. He secrets the coin away, then makes a new life for himself in Beacon Hills.

The next few years are fraught with danger, but Derek also finds friendships in unexpected places. He begins to realize that some families are made, not born. So when one of their own is in peril, Derek retrieves the coin from its hiding place.

He doesn't wish to save himself or be the hero of the story; he learned the cruel price of selfish desires long ago. Instead he uses his second wish to give his wolf brother the strength to save them all.

It's during the halcyon days that follow that Derek finds something quite remarkable with a man who was once his sworn enemy. What began as the unlikeliest of friendships becomes a love as passionate as it is pure.

When Derek returns from full moon runs with the pack, mud caked under his nails and bits of leaves and twigs in his hair, Chris is there to greet him with a tired eyes and a soft smile. A firm hand encircles Derek's wrist as Chris leads him into their home.

They have a ritual of their own now, and after stripping Derek of his filthy clothes, Chris ushers him under into the shower, washing away dried blood from already healed scratches and scrubbing Derek's skin until it's fresh and clean.

They speak quietly as Chris attends to Derek's body, catching each other up on the night's events. Soon hands begin to wander and soft kisses become not-so-gentle bites, and words fade to sighs and quiet moans.

Derek instinctively widens his stance when Chris drops to his knees behind him. Chris has always taken great pleasure in rimming Derek, but is most possessive after full moons. He takes his time, licking Derek open until his muscles relax, spreading him wide and working his tongue and fingers in as deep as they can go. Derek's skin feels raw from the roughness of Chris' beard; he's brought to the brink over and over while Chris reclaims what is his after a long night apart.

It's only after Derek is shaking through his first orgasm, legs unsteady, that Chris stands and leads him to their bedroom, where he starts worshipping Derek body all over again. Derek can barely do more than raise his hips when Chris pushes inside him, deep and hard and slow, over and over, until they both find release.

After, Derek is too exhausted to move. He drifts off with Chris' come still deep within him and the solid line of Chris' body draped over his, making him feel safe and whole.

Sometimes Derek thinks of the coin, still infused with a third of its power and buried years ago under the foundation of their little house. But each morning he wakes wrapped tight in Chris' warm embrace, he finds he has nothing left to wish for.

* * *

45.

Once upon a time, it begins with a dream, as it does for everyone in the village. No one dreams in Beacon, until the Hunt.

Lydia wakes one morning with sweat beading her forehead, gasping, her sex aching in arousal, and her hands reaching for _something, someone_ but there only stands the village Shaman. The hag’s face is etched deep in wrinkles and she smiles at Lydia.

“It is time, _Maighdean_.”

_No._

 

Lydia sits across the fire from the Shaman. She stares at the bones circling the Shaman, willing them to disappear. The old hands hover over each long bone. Femurs.

“Think back _Maighdean_ ,” the hag says. “Two legs, four? Hair, feathers?” As she talks she takes bones away from the group; she’s narrowing down, Lydia realises. The Shaman is searching her dream.

Creating a mental block is like snapping her fingers, and the Shaman reels back in surprise. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“You don’t want to find them,” the Shaman states.

“I promised myself to the Whittemore Clan,” Lydia replies coldly. “I wasn’t expecting to dream.”

“ _Maighdean_ ,” the hag chides softly, voice sing-songing. “No one expects anything.” Lydia keeps her mouth shut, biting her lip so she doesn’t say anything venomous.

“Now,” the Shaman prompts. “What are they?”

Lydia replies, “A wolf.” She was trying to lie, to find an exit, but as soon as she says it she knows it to be true. It leaves her tilted.

The Shaman becomes angry. “If you’re not going to take the Hunt seriously you may as well leave. There are no wolves on the Isles.”

“It was a wolf,” she says as she stands. Lydia moves around the fire to the discarded pile of bones and takes the oldest bone in her hand. After a moment, she tosses it in the fire and walks out of the hut without looking back.

The fire turns blue.

 

She leaves on horse without saying goodbye to her friends and once-betrothed, but she notices the falcon following her for miles. Lydia halts her horse. The falcon lands and it shifts, growing and walking forward on two human legs, naked.

“Never go without saying goodbye,” Allison says, reaching up to hug her.

“I’m scared,” she admits.

Allison smiles. “So was Scott.” Lydia can believe that.

“Were you?”

“Of course,” she says. “We’re all scared. We’re all alone until we dream.”

 

Day sixteen and Lydia wonders if she’s headed in the wrong direction. The dreams have gotten more vivid, though, and she wakes each morning with ghosts on her skin, between her legs, nipples hard and aching for touch. All Lydia needs is to thrust two fingers in her, rub her swollen clit fast, and let her hips rock into the motion to find relief.

She lies on her mat and stares at the treetops, listening to the river along side her. It tells her she needs to continue; they’re trying to find her, too.

 

_Strong hands pin hers above her head. She arches into the body above, feels the flat plains of his chest, the hair there tickling her breasts. They’re gasping, rocking together for completion. His cock is hot, sliding wetly against her sex, against her clit where she wants it most._

_His mouth brushes her ear. “I feel you. You’re so close.”_

_Lydia nods, because she is- she’s on the edge, she wants to come_ so bad _by his cock, his hands, anything, as long as she’s finally coming in her dreams with him. She wants him. She doesn’t care if its the loneliness talking, she_ wants.

_“Its not,” he rasps. She feels stubble of beard on her cheek as he speaks. “I want you. You were made for me. I was made for you. We_ belong _, sweetheart. You’re the fire that lit my spark, as much as I lit yours.”_

_“Please,” Lydia cries. “I want to come...”_

_“You’re so close. Almost, sweetheart. Almost.”_

 

He’s chasing her. She swivels in her saddle, aiming with her bow. Lydia is not an archer, and she misses without even trying. He knows it. The Hunt isn’t meant to be bloody.

She dismounts afterwhile, runs along the river, and too soon she hears the four-count tempo running close behind her, gaining.

“You’re not,” Lydia pants, “fucking me...as a wolf!”

An arm wraps around her waist, and the pair of them go tumbling down; he’s shields her from the rough ground. Lydia looks up at him for the first time, and Peter smiles.

* * *

46.

 

“And they lived happily ever after,” Stiles whispered, as he folded his mother’s old, leather bound book of fairytales closed. He smiled down at the now sleeping form of his daughter, snuggled underneath her pink cammo comforter, and he couldn’t resist the impulse to lean down to place a gentle kiss to her forehead. Just like his mother had done so many years ago for him.  
When he finally stood up and turned toward the door, he wasn’t surprised to find Derek casually leaning against the doorframe, smiling softly at them.  
“We really need to talk to _Pop Pop_ about the whole giving-our-daughter-sugar-in-the-afternoon, thing,” Stiles whispered tiredly.  
“Mmhmm,” Derek agreed, both of them already knowing that neither of them would dare say a damn word. “She wore you out?”  
Stiles snorted, and leaned against Derek’s side, content to let him guide them both down the hallway toward their bedroom. “Who knew werewolf cubs would be so much work?”  
“I’m pretty sure it’s not a werewolf thing.”  
“That’s what my dad said too,” Stiles said sullenly, pouting up at Derek who leaned forward to kiss it off of him. Stiles melted into it immediately, closing his eyes and letting Derek press him back against the wall, his weariness melting away with each swipe of Derek’s tongue.  
“Yeah,” Stiles breathed. Derek was strong and sturdy in front of him, and Stiles _wanted_ damnit; it felt like weeks since the last time they’d had sex.  
Derek pulled away a moment later, moving to kneel in front of him, his hands skimming Stiles’ sweat pants down his legs as he went. They took a moment for Stiles to step out of them before they continued, Stiles laughing softly as his feet got tangled. They’d long moved past the days of frantic groping, and neither of them wanted to put Stiles’ gracelessness to the test by not removing the hazard of tangled clothing, not when he was already bone tired and barely able to accomplish the feat as it was.  
“Boner killer,” Stiles muttered, finally kicking free of his sweats, and despite the clear evidence that it wasn’t true.  
“Practical,” Derek corrected, sliding his hands up to cup the jut of Stiles’ hipbones, pressing him more solidly against the wall. Before Stiles could say anything in response, Derek swooped forward and took him into his mouth.  
“Shit!” Stiles threw his head back, and his hands slid blindly through the soft, slightly greying strands of Derek’s hair. Because damn. Even after years of being together, this never wasn’t amazing between them. Hell, if anything it only got better, both of them so familiar with each other’s bodies, and all the things that drove each other crazy.  
Derek’s mouth was hot, the suction perfect for pulling Stiles thoroughly out of parent mode and into the moment. He bobbed his head slowly, taking Stiles deep into his throat where he paused for a moment, before pulling back to repeat the process.  
It wasn’t long before Stiles was a panting mess, electric shocks of pleasure coursing through his veins and threatening to make his legs actually give out, regardless of Derek’s support.  
“Ok, Stop!” Stiles finally pleaded.  
Derek smirked up at him, and Stiles reached down to cup his face, pleased when the smirk faded to something softer and just for him. “Ready for bed?” Derek asked, rising to his feet.  
“Soooo ready.”  
They fell to the bed in a tangle of limbs, both of them moving languidly against each other. Despite how close Derek had already brought him to the edge, neither of them felt particularly like hurrying, although the time, and their exhaustion, meant that they weren’t particularly interested in drawing things out for too much longer either.  
It was still good though, Derek gentle as he opened Stiles up, working him open with fingers slick with lube, from a bottle that was nearly empty even though they hadn’t actually fucked like this in weeks.  
“Oh my god yes!” Stiles groaned, when Derek finally slid inside of him. It was good, so fucking good, and it barely took anything at all before they were both coming, shuddering against each other, and then holding each other close when it was over.  
They basked in the afterglow for a few minutes, enjoying the rare moment of post coital bliss.  
“And we lived happily ever after,” Stiles whispered giddily into Derek’s shoulder, echoing the ending he’d read half a dozen times already that night.  
“I can live with that.”

* * *

47.

Stiles narrows his eyes and continues scribbling into his notebook. "Dylan wants to know what Steve’s doing..." He trails off, biting the end of his pen as he squints down at the words.  
"Dylan?" Derek asks, eyebrows drawn into a thick line of 'fuck you' on his face.  
Stiles shrugs. "Yeah. Names are changed to protect the innocent and all that shit."  
Derek shakes his head and turns his attention back to the road in front of them. "So many questions," he murmurs to the windshield.  
"Well," Stiles begins, turning in the passenger seat to face Derek fully, "since you're curious: I'm thinking of writing a children's book. The lighter side of fairytale monsters, y'know? _Things That Go Derp in the Night._ Dylan—that's you—will be the main character. A werewolf who's really more like an old lady's lapdog and can't keep his shit together to save his life. Literally."  
Derek's grip tightens on the steering wheel, jaw clenching in a way that Stiles knows means trouble.  
After a short beat of silence, Derek surprises him, though. "You're not naming my character Dylan."  
Stiles has gone back to chewing his pen, studying the notes on his page and visualizing Dylan dropping a toaster into the tub in an ill advised attempt to smoosh together morning tasks and shorten the time it takes to get ready for school. "What's wrong with Dylan? I think it's a great name. Plus, it's close to Derek and easy to remember."  
"It’s a ridiculous name."  
"It's a _hero's_ name, Derek. I'm writing you as a _hero_." After the toaster thing, of course.  
"Actually," Derek replies, that smug tone Stiles knows all too well back in full force, "it's a Welsh name that means 'great flow.' You'd be naming a character after an extreme menstrual cycle."  
"You're an asshole," Stiles says. "And I'm keeping it. It's a great name."  
"Give me one adult whose name is Dylan."  
"Bob Dylan," Stiles fires back.  
"Bob Dylan is a tool. Try again."  
"Dylan...Sanders?" Stiles cringes.  
"Seriously? As in Charlie's Angel?"  
"Okay, in my defense, you weren't actually supposed to know that one." Stiles tosses his pen and notebook to the floorboard, earning a sideways glare from Derek. "Roadtrips are exhausting."  
"Sorry," Derek says sardonically. "Should I pull over so _you_ can rest?"  
"Hey, I offered to drive while you die all over the passenger seat."

Derek glances down at his chest. The bleeding has stopped, at least. Once Stiles dug the bullet out, the wound was able to heal. His tattered shirt is covered in blood, though.  
"Even injured, my reflexes are better. And it's _my_ car."  
Stiles groans, slumping in his seat. "Unappreciative."  
He fiddles with the stereo, settling on a scratchy rock station that's playing Tesla.  
Derek's fingers curl around Stiles' as they linger on the dial. He tugs his hand away from the stereo, turning down the volume just as they're being told _do this, don't do that._ When Derek doesn't immediately push Stiles' arm back to the passenger side of the car, Stiles chances a glance over at him.  
Derek's eyes are locked on the road ahead. "Thank you," he says eventually, thumb rubbing absently across Stiles’ warm skin.  
Stiles swallows, gaze lingering on the shifting tendons in Derek's arm.  
"Uh...you're welcome?"  
"I mean it." Derek looks over at Stiles now. "I don't really have much of a pack left—" Stiles tries to interrupt, to tell Derek that he _does_ have a pack, even if it isn't quite the same as the one he built for himself, but Derek squeezes Stiles' hand in warning. "Not a lot of people I can count on anymore. If it wasn't for your stubbornness and perseverance, I'd be—"  
"Yeah," Stiles does cut him off then, "maybe. Or maybe Chris would've pulled his head out if his ass and come to save you himself."  
~  
Later, when they find some reprieve, Stiles will remember to finish his story. When he’s not blinded by pleasure at Derek’s hands, breathless from thick, white-hot _need_ firing through him, he’ll consider it. He won’t be able to ignore that small sense of pride, the power that radiates from within, serving to remind him that he really is an integral part of it all. He'll continue to make light of the situations they fall into, and he'll keep doing his part to dig his friends out of trouble. Stiles thinks maybe that's not such a terrible Happily Ever After.

* * *

48.

 

“Why the wrist?”

Stiles blurts the question out before he can stop himself. It’s been bother him for too long. He’s got just enough alcohol in his system to have a decent buzz going and not enough to make him forget the question on his mind.

Peter chokes on the sip of alcohol he’s taken. Stiles would be proud if he weren’t so sincerely invested in the answer. He watches as Peter turns to look at him, and he pushes himself up to get a better view of Peter’s face.

“What?” Peter asks, happy to play dumb.

“Everyone else that was bitten was bitten on their side. Even Scott. You offered to bite me on the wrist.”

“Convenience.”

“The internet says otherwise.”

Peter curses inwardly.

“It says-”

“I know what it says, Stiles.”

“So...?” Stiles falters slightly. Maybe he hasn’t had enough alcohol yet.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Wait. Yes, like, it’s true, or that that’s a thing?”

“Stiles,” Peter says shortly. What did he do to deserve a hyperactive eighteen year-old for a mate? A hyperactive eighteen year-old mate that’s too smart for his own good.

Stiles cocks his head slightly and watches Peter. He expects something more solid than that.

Peter doesn’t think about it. That’s what got him into this whole mess in the first place. He hadn’t been thinking when he offered Stiles the bite. He had been listening to his wolf, which is what he does when he leans down to press a small kiss against Stiles’ lips.

“Understand?”

“Not quite,” Stiles answers after he looks up at him with a stupid grin.

Peter thinks about drowning the boy. He really does. It might make his life easier. Instead, he kisses him again. He feels Stiles’ fingers tangle in his hair and Stiles’ other hand tugging at his shirt, trying to pull him down.

Stiles is warm underneath him. He lowers Stiles to the ground gently, and he lets himself have what he never thought he would. Stiles is so warm.

Stiles pulls him closer. His hands become preoccupied with Peter’s hair and shirt. Peter gives the boy one more look up and down before closing his eyes and letting go of the control.

The kiss is exactly what he thought it would be. Messy, abrasive, wholly Stiles. It’s intoxicating and infuriating. Stiles squirms and moans against him. He only has one hand on Peter now. Peter pushes himself up and braces himself on one arm; he opens his mouth to ask what Stiles is doing with his hand in his pocket when the kid yanks out a condom and a packet of lube. Stiles grins at him in a way that tells Peter this is as planned as it seems.

Peter closes his eyes and drops himself back down. “Stiles,” he moans against the kid’s neck.

Stiles’ hands do the dirty work, pushing his pants out of the way and rolling the condom on him. Peter reaches down for the lube, only to find Stiles two fingers deep in himself. He groans and rolls his hips down against Stiles’ hip.

Stiles pulls him in when he’s done, wiping his wet fingers on the back of Peter’s shirt (the little shit), and drags him closer. Peter fumbles for a second before lining up with Stiles’ entrance and pushing inside. “God, Stiles,” he grunts and grinds his teeth together to keep from saying everything he wants to say. Everything about how he never thought he would have this happy ending, this boy beneath him, light of his life, fire of his loins.

The heat around him is unbelievable. Stiles feels so good he almost doesn’t hear Stiles speak. He almost doesn’t hear the butchered _I love you_ that comes out. Peter chokes and goes still as he comes inside of Stiles. He drapes himself over Stiles, surprisingly worn out.

He comes back to focus with the sound of Stiles’ laughter. He hoists himself halfway up with his weight set on his elbows. Stiles is finishing himself, arm trembling from the exertion. He comes with this blissful look on his face. Peter can’t look away.

Peter leans down to kiss the stupid grin that follows. He whispers against his lips, unable to help the slightly possessive tone that mixes with the happiness.

_Mate._

* * *

49.

 

“What’s wrong with him?” Stiles asked as Scott and Peter carried Derek into his apartment. They lowered him onto his couch and his eyes stay closed. Kira and Lydia were close behind them.

“A hag.” Peter spat as he tore off what was left of Derek’s shirt and started pressing it to the still bleeding cuts under his ribs. Hags claws were sharper than even a werewolves, it looked like Derek had gotten in its range.

Stiles was already reaching for the first aid kit he kept in the hall closet “why isn't he healing?” Scott slumped against the wall, looking drained and Stiles squeeze his arm with his free hand before passing the kit to Peter. Peter made quick work of the bandages and Scott rubbed at a shallow cut on his neck, unlike Derek’s his was healing.

Lydia gave him a look and Stiles flailed as realization hit him “Dude, a sleeping spell, really?” Stiles turned from Lydia to Peter. Derek was sprawled out on his couch, unconscious and bleeding from claw marks on his chest.

Peter rolled his eyes “Of course the cure must be True Love’s Kiss.” He looked at Scott and Kira in disdain. Both had the decency to blush.

“I was just happy he wasn’t dead.” Kira shrugged.

“She kissed me.” Scott smiled at her awkwardly their voices overlapping.

“The kiss has to come from someone who loves the person.” Lydia interjected looking pointedly at Peter.

He backed away from Derek, holding up his hands. “Sorry, I don't really do feelings at the moment.”

Derek was sweating now, red seeping through the bandages on his chest and his face growing paler. His eyelashes laid dark against his cheeks and his breathing remained steady. Stiles swallowed gripping a hand at his fist before making a decision, it was embarrassing and something he’d been wanting to avoid for well _ever_.

Before anyone could say anything he kneeled down beside Derek and took a deep breath, hand curving around his cheek. “This better work,” he murmured before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Derek’s. Derek’s lips were dry, almost chapped as Stiles kissed him and he couldn't hear anyone over the sound of roaring in his ears.

He pulled back, face flushed and heart beating wildly and watched with bated breath as Derek’s eye lashes twitched. Relief washed over him and he felt weak as Derek’s eyes started to open. With it came the realization of what he’d revealed and Stiles could practically feel the eyes on him.

Before Derek could come fully awake Stiles threw his body back, away from him, and rushed out of the apartment before anyone could stop him.

 

+++++

He’d left his keys on the hook in his house so he’d had to walk to his dad’s house and use the spare under the mat to get in. His dad was currently on a vacation with Melissa for the next week so the house was thankfully empty.

Stiles had collapsed on the pillow in what was still is room and had tried to bury his head as far under the blankets as he could.

That’s why he didn’t hear his window open and had only dragged himself out of his little fort when he heard someone clear their throat.

Derek was looking at him in a way that made it obvious someone (probably Peter) had filled him in on everything that had happened and Stiles considered for a moment diving back under his blanket before he blurted out “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything!”

Derek still hadn’t replaced his ruined t-shirt and at least the wounds had healed, leaving behind pink lines that seemed to still be fading.

“You should have.” Derek’s voice was soft and he moved towards the bed, before Stiles could retreat he was kissing him. Stiles surged towards him, desperate as he kissed back. His hands moved over Derek’s skin and Derek was already tugging his shirt off, herding him back against the bed until his body covered Stiles.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles agreed mouthing at Derek’s neck as Derek pushed down his pants “I really should have.” He had never dreamed this would be the reaction he’d get.

Derek smiled against his lips before moving down, hand gripping Stiles cock. “After, we’re going to talk.” Derek promised before leaning down, mouth opening around him and Stiles threw back his head and bit back a scream.

Oh yeah, after they definitely had some talking to do.


	7. Group C: No Warnings and Pairings

50.

_Once upon a time, there was a ragtag pack that defied logic; a human, a banshee, a kitsune, a werewolf, and a hunter. Led by a true alpha, it defeated the impossible._

Now, that pack is fractured. Mourning, lost, stripped raw.

To fix it, Derek starts with the person he identifies with most.

***

Stiles is reluctant to talk about it, to see Derek in the first place, but the sheriff asks Derek for help with some unsolved cases, which gives Derek a solid reason to be at the house. Once Stiles realizes what's going on, his natural curiosity takes over.

It's only once or twice a week, on the sheriff's overnights. It's not explicitly stated Derek's also there to keep Stiles company, but Derek understands. Is even grateful to be of use twice over.

"I know you're here to baby-sit me," Stiles says, his school books spread out in front of him. "The only reason you're still here is because I'm okay with it."

Derek lets him believe that.

***

Stiles is fine until he isn't, and Derek has to replay the conversation to see what button he pushed. It's not always the same thing, not always related to Stiles' life or the nogitsune. Derek tries to let Stiles vent, but it bothers Derek sometimes. Enough for him interrupt.

"It's not always going to be like this."

Stiles stops mid-word. "How would you know?"

"I know how it feels. Not being able to look yourself in the mirror, to trust your instincts." Derek lowers his eyes. "Hiding away doesn't help. It only widens the divide, making it seem more and more impossible to fix."

"You're not exactly the poster boy for self-care."

"I'm not the one holed up in my bedroom. Avoiding all the people I love, who care about me."

Stiles shoves up from his chair. "That's because nobody DOES care about you."

"Be a dick all you want, Stiles. It doesn't change the fact that I know what that guilt's like. It'll eat you alive if you let it."

"Why do you CARE?"

Derek shrugs. "You saved my life. Maybe it's time I do the same."

***

Derek waits a week and comes bearing dinner from Dinah's. Stiles accepts by way of a werewolf movie retrospective.

It could've gone worse.

***

The fight reinforces what was almost a friendship, strengthening it with fire once Derek proves he won't take Stiles' shit, but won't abandon him either. Stiles comes down more often, is less combative when Derek doesn't agree with Stiles' theories, and smiles occasionally.

Derek might've worried about it, before, trying to memorize the curve of Stiles' mouth. By the time Derek catches himself, it's too little, too late.

***

Case file nights turn into an hour of homework, then a pop culture education. Stiles makes it his mission to fill in the gaps, when Derek and Laura were too busy running to indulge in movies.

It feels natural, in the light of the television, for Stiles to lean in, for Derek to look over, for their mouths to meet. It's summer and Stiles is in a threadbare t-shirt, an even flimsier pair of sweats, and Derek wants.

***

"I'm fairly sure this isn't why your dad asked for my help."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Because that worked so well before?"

"Shut up and move your goddamn hips, would'ja?"

Derek flashes a grin and rolls them over, reveling in Stiles' wide eyes. He recovers quick enough to take control, his hips moving ragged and unsure, pressing down nowhere near where Derek needs it, until he nudges Stiles with a knee. Then, _then_ …it's still stuttered and inelegant, their bellies sticking together where their shirts rode up, but it's Stiles' breath in his ear, his face rasping against Derek's beard, Stiles' gutted moans and it's _so_ , so good.

Stiles doesn't last long, not that Derek expected him too. Still, he holds Stiles' hips close and ruts up into him, rocking Stiles through his orgasm until Derek's creeps up on him.

Stiles is a breathless mess, after, sprawled over Derek's body. He moans as Derek tries to move him, but goes with the motion, until he startles out of his haze and jerks upright, clipping Derek's chin.

"I didn't get to see your dick," he groans. His palm settles on Derek's crotch, over the wet spot.

"We've got time," Derek says.

Stiles' face brightens. "Yeah?"

Derek nods. "Yeah."

* * *

51.

 

Once upon a time there was a sheriff. He was a great sheriff, beloved by the people of--

No, wait. His occupation was important, but there was more to him than that.

Once upon a time there was a _father_.

As fathers do, even if only in stories, on the day his son left to make his own way in the world they took a stroll together in the local forest preserve. It was a wild place, but the sheriff and his son had nothing to fear there.

“Study hard, and write often,” the father said, because his son was going a long way from home, answering the call of his magic. “I'm going to miss you.”

“I'll be back before you know it,” his son assured him, and he rested a hand on his father's shoulder. “Promise me you'll try to get out, have a social life. You being alone is the only thing I'm worried about.”

“I promise,” the father said, and he squeezed his son tightly.

All around them, unseen by both, lights sparkled and danced among the trees, and the leaves whispered _promise, promise, promise_.

 

In those very same woods there was a cabin, and in the cabin lived a wolf. A wolf-man, to be more accurate.

He wasn't much like the wolves in storybooks, and he wasn't much like other men either. The son had thought him a monster at one time, but he had been young and foolish. He was older now, by a whole two years, and he knew for himself the anger that grief could bring. And the wolf had mellowed, though he was still too serious about – well, everything, if you asked the son in this story his opinion (which very few ever did).

Of course, this did not stop the son from meddling in the wolf-man's life, especially when he was going so far away for so long.

“My father is going to offer you a job,” the son said, and the wolf-man frowned, as he usually did when the sheriff's son was being especially brilliant. “I want you to promise you'll take it. You need something to do that isn't moping around here all day long.”

“I don't mope,” the wolf-man said, though the untidy piles of books and unwashed dishes suggested otherwise. “And I don't think I'm cut out to be a deputy, do you?”

“I think you can be anything you want,” the sheriff's son said. “You could look after this town like your family always did. Just in a different way.”

The wolf-man was silent for a moment, but then he nodded.

“I want to hear you say it,” the sheriff's son said, and when he did, the forest outside once more echoed _promise, promise, promise_ , too faintly for even the wolf-man to hear.

 

Five long years passed, and it was time for the sheriff's son to return home.

First he stopped by the Sheriff's office.

“Sorry kid, he took the day off,” one of the deputies said, as if it wasn't even a surprising occurrence, and the sheriff's son left, a spring in his step at the thought of the change this must indicate in his father.

The forest preserve was on his way home to his father's house, so next he called in to see the wolf-man. But the cabin was more run down than ever, windows too grimy to see through.

When he reached his father's house there was no response, so he let himself in. It was familiar and yet--

There were two cups on the breakfast table, left in a hurry. There were new bookcases, home made but perfect, with rows of books he was sure he had seen before, somewhere.

In the bedroom there were two dents in the pillows, two pairs of very different shoes jumbled together in a corner. And when he touched the bedpost--

_sweat glistened, breathing heavy, head thrown back_

“Fuck me, do it, oh god.”

fingers wrapped around cocks, sliding, coming, coming, coming

“Give it me, there, yes, that's--”

– for once he wished his magic wasn't _quite_ so powerful.

“I kept my promise, son,” his father said, when he came in and saw how his son was blushing.

“So did I,” the wolf-man added, and instead of a frown, he had a smile that looked almost at home on his face.

And thanks to judicious use of soundproofing charms, they all lived happily ever after.

* * *

52.

Stiles Stilinski kept his sword in its scabbard as he walked through the cave. Light was scarce, with only a single torch to light his way. With haste he made his way through the twists and turns of the carved rock, the distant sound of growling growing louder with each step. Though his heart beat could be felt beating against his own chest, Stiles showed no signs of being afraid. Being a Knight, he knew no fear. Besides, he wasn’t in the cave to vanquish a foe. He was there for an entirely different reason altogether.

As Stiles rounded another turn, he grinned when a massive dragon came into view. It towered over him, it’s nostrils smoking in warning that fire would come shortly afterward if provoked.

“It’s me,” Stiles called out, his voice echoing through the cavern. The dragon snorted, its forked tongue sticking out as it turned from him, getting to its feet and spreading it’s wings. It roared, it’s mouth open wide revealing sharp teeth, shaking the small rocks at Stiles’ feet. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Fire lit the room as it circled him, it’s multicolored eyes glinting against the flames.

Stiles watched the dragon transform before his eyes, into an almost human form. With only horns, pointed ears, wings, and a smattering of scales across his cheekbones signified that the man before him was, in fact, not completely human. Stiles stepped forward, placing his torch into a barren fire pit, letting it catch.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” he said.

“I promised I would,” Stiles told Derek. “I told you I would protect you.” He had been sent to the mountains to kill Derek, but found that he couldn’t do it, not when he saw Derek in his humanoid form.

“I don’t need protection,” Derek said, his nostrils smoking once more. He was naked, his body chiseled, as if cut from fine stone or marble. Derek had wanted Stiles to remain with him, but Stiles couldn’t. He had a duty to his King, but he promised to return to him once a month.

Stiles smiled at him as he reached out, placing a hand on Derek’s cheek.

“You don’t, but I don’t know of any other way to show you how I feel.” Derek leaned towards Stiles’ touch, his eyes closing. Stiles leaned forward capturing Derek’s lips with his own. Propriety be damned, he couldn’t keep away from Derek. The kiss deepened as Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, his hands roaming Stiles’ body, undoing his belt, dropping his scabbard to the ground at Stiles’ feet. Derek undressed Stiles with haste, his pupils blown as he found Stiles’ mouth once more when he was through. Stiles found himself on the ground, with Derek hovering over him, spreading Stiles’ legs wide with his knees, his heavy cock sliding against Stiles’ smearing precome across his stomach. Derek rocked his hips against Stiles, licking up his neck. Stiles’ back arched against him, his hands gripping tight to Derek’s waist as he panted beneath him.

“I brought oil,” Stiles managed to say between moans as Derek’s fingers pressed against his hole, begging for entrance. Stiles spread his legs further apart as he reached for his satchel. Derek nipped at his skin, sucking and marking him as Stiles opened the vial. “Dip your fingers in this.”  
Derek growled, angry that he had to stop for a moment, but as soon as his fingers were slick with the oil, he pressed one inwards, his mouth attaching to Stiles’ neck once more with a happy moan. Stiles gasped at the intrusion as he moved against Derek’s finger.

“I’m ready.”

Stiles moaned as Derek entered him. Bigger than a few fingers in girth, the stretch left Stiles without breath. Derek stilled within him, forcing Stiles to grab onto his ass in order to get Derek to move. Derek snapped out of whatever trance he had been in, rolling his hips as he fucked into Stiles. They moved against each other, Stiles’ legs hooked around Derek’s thighs, holding him close. Their lips crashed together, both of them moaning, open mouthed. Stiles wrapped a hand around his cock, jacking himself off until he came with a shuddering breath. Derek’s pace quickened until he stilled within him, coming. Panting for breath, the two of them clung together in the dirt.

“Stay,” Derek asked as he nosed at Stiles’ cheek. Stiles licked his lips, nodding his head.

“I’ll stay.”

* * *

53.

Scott’s wedding was a lively affair. Everyone was well into their cups by ten, and the sheriff spared a thought for the bill that would be delivered the next day for the open bar. Not that he was going to be the one paying for it, but still. Werewolves? Definitely not strangers to knocking a few back. The sheriff stuck to club soda - after all, this wasn’t Stiles’ wedding (Yet. Thank god.) - and he smiled as he watched his idiot son dance like a Disco reject next to Lydia Whittemore, who appeared to tolerate him with a patience that only several glasses of pinot could provide.

He scanned the room and stopped when his eyes fell on Melissa McCall, head thrown back with laughter. His throat tightened as he took in her wild curls escaping from her chignon and the delicate slope of her neck. The tiny white lights in the room made the sequins on her dress shine like diamonds and she looked bioluminescent.

The sheriff couldn’t breath.

The room faded away and his worldview shifted with the realization that he _loved_ that slip of a woman. Loved her unshakable strength and incredible spirit. Loved her kindness and warmth, and how she filled up every empty crevice inside of him with a brightness that seemed as supernatural as her son.

He wanted to wake up next to her for the rest of his life. Wanted to feel her soft, warm curves molded against him. Wanted to hear the way she quietly snuffled in her sleep forever. He wanted to kiss her neck and palm her stomach and pull her close.

He suddenly realized that for the last five years he hadn’t been able to see or smell an apricot without thinking of the lotion she always wore or see a lilac without knowing that it was her favorite flower. He realized that he knew she liked her coffee black and her eggs scrambled, and that he’d known it for so long that over the years that knowledge had become a part of him.

He realized that she was it for him. _It._ In all the best ways. The ways that matter. The ways that make you glad to be alive, but he’d been so blind and slow. An idiot and a fool, too wrapped up in his dead wife, he wondered if it was too late for them. Aside from an awkward, aborted date shortly before the boys’ high school senior year, she didn’t know. She didn’t know how much she mattered to him, how much he cared.

The sheriff couldn’t breath.

She laughed and spilled joy and filled his world and she didn’t _know_.

He wanted to hear her gasp, feel her shiver, and kiss her for the rest of his life. He wanted to feel her shake as he made love to her and moan as he palmed her breasts. He wanted to covet her. Cherish her. _Marry her_.

Sheriff exhaled a shaky breath and set his club soda down. He was too old, had lost too much, not to do something about his realization; they were both overdue for their Happily Ever After.

He straightened his jacket and rolled his neck, squeezed his fists, took a fortifying breath. He crossed the room to where she stood.

Her eyes lit up when she saw him approach and he realized that maybe she’d known all along and was waiting for him to catch up. Encouraged by her smile, he slid his hand to the small of her back and leaned close, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Melissa, I was wondering if you...”

* * *

54.

"Being married to a monster might not be as bad as I expected," Stiles said to himself, surveying the grand palace in front of him.

It was only when he woke in the middle of the night, feeling someone blindfolding him and binding his hands, that he felt afraid. 

"You can't look at me," the monster whispered into his ear. "But I'll try to make you happy, I promise."

Stiles was terrified, expecting rough treatment, but instead he felt soft lips meet his own. The monster placed gentle kisses on his neck and shoulders, finding a spot that made him squirm, before trailing down his bare chest. When the monster took off his pants, Stiles wasn't sure any more whether he even wanted the monster to stop - his cock was flushed and hardening, but the monster just hummed and continued his slow exploration of Stiles' body.

The monster caressed him for what felt like hours, whispering praise. Stiles thought he felt rough skin and strange hair, and he felt fangs pressed briefly against his neck as the monster sucked on his skin. He was too turned on for that to even scare him.

"Please," he begged.

"Please what?" the monster replied.

"Stop teasing, please, I want you to." His voice sounded strange and desperate, but this hadn't been what he was expecting.

The monster wrapped a clawed hand carefully - so carefully - around his cock and stroked him until he came, gasping, so hard that he couldn't help but drift afterwards. He felt the splash of the monster's release on his stomach and hips before he felt a damp cloth wiping it away.

"What's your name?" Stiles asked, halfway to sleep.

"Derek," the monster - Derek - replied, before Stiles lost consciousness entirely.

He woke unbound and unblindfolded, and Derek was nowhere to be seen. 

That became the pattern of Stiles' life. During the day he wandered the grounds of the palace, and at night he woke, bound and blind, to Derek's company.

Not all nights were the same. Some nights were filled with sex - better than Stiles could have possibly imagined - Derek sucking him until he came, Derek propping up Stiles' head and pushing his cock into his mouth, Derek pushing into him, finally, after using his fingers for so long that the blindfold was wet with Stiles' tears and his wrists burned from Stiles having strained against his binding, desperate, desperate to touch Derek.

Other nights they spoke. Stiles told Derek about his father and life before. Derek never revealed any of his secrets, but he was good company. Stiles found himself sleeping later into the morning so he could spend more time with Derek in the nights.

One night, as Derek lay curled up against his side, Stiles asked him why this was how they lived.

"I can't tell you," he said. "I'm sorry." Stiles didn't ask him again.

Stiles thought that Derek was afraid of him knowing what he really looked like, that Stiles wouldn't think Derek's devotion and tenderness and passion was enough to overcome his monstrosity. 

So one night he put a knife under his pillow before falling asleep. While Derek was distracted by Stiles' cock down his throat, Stiles cut through the bindings. He ripped off his blindfold and sat up, expecting to see a beast, only to behold the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

"Stiles," Derek said, a stricken look on his handsome face. "Why did you do that? Were you so unhappy with me?"

"Of course not, I love you, I'd love you however you looked. I want to stay with you." He reached forward to touch Derek, but Derek leaned away.

"You can't. Now that you've seen me -"

Before Stiles' eyes, Derek's shape changed, moulding into that of a huge wolf. The wolf gazed sadly at him with Derek's eyes before jumping out the window.

For Stiles had been wrong about Derek's reasons. Many years ago, he had been cursed by a witch who hated his family, that no lover should look upon him without turning him into a beast, unless he was loved truly and faithfully for a full year.

But the witch had underestimated the power of love and faith; Stiles spent the remainder of the year searching fruitlessly for a wolf with Derek's eyes. On the day of his wedding anniversary, still faithful, he found Derek restored to human shape, and they lived happily ever after.

* * *

55.

Once upon a time there was an awkward fawn and a gangly cub who grew to become a majestic stag and a fearsome wolf. They played at prey and predator until the day the wolf became the stag's protector when hunters sought his rare white pelt.

One day, the wolf arrived too late. The stag was swift and strong, but blinded with pain; he fled, leaving behind a trail of blood that the wolf followed, his heart stuttering with fear for the stag's life. The wolf came upon a cabin but didn't understand how the path could lead him here until the door opened to reveal the most beautiful boy he had ever seen -- one with big doe eyes and milky white skin and a grievous wound exactly where the stag's had been.

Another boy helped him onto his horse, and they were away with haste. The wolf chased them because the boy was the stag and both the boy and the stag were _his_ , but he was tired from the hunt and had to turn back when his Alpha howled for his return.

The wolf never saw the stag again.

Until --

*

"Stop brooding. You're not being executed," Laura said. She dragged him through the castle toward the Great Hall.

"I'm not brooding," Derek said, even though he was. He'd always known there was only one for him, and he'd lost his mate years ago. "I wish I knew whom I was marrying."

Laura looked at him strangely. "You've known him since you were children."

Derek tried to remember, but couldn't. His mind was full of memories of the stag.

*

Derek stared at his groom in shock. It was the boy, older now, his hair longer than it had been, his shoulders broad. Derek barely heard the Bishop recite the liturgy, had only listened long enough to hear -- _Stiles_. Stiles didn't meet his eyes. He was unhappy, heartbroken, sad.

His eyes drifted to Stiles' shoulder where the wound had been, and whispered, "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you that day."

Stiles' eyes met his, his brow furrowing. His nose wrinkled, as if trying to catch Derek's scent. Derek's heart hurt until he saw the flash of recognition in those brown eyes and caught moment the bitter scent of sadness became overwhelming joy.

They skipped the traditional vows and kissed, much to the Bishop's dismay.

*

They were playmates again, though playmates of a different sort.

Derek kissed every inch of Stiles' lean body, drunk on his scent, made delirious by Stiles' soft whimpers and softer moans. He bit and nipped, sucked bruises where they would show, and nosed tenderly at an aged scar that was a reminder of what he'd nearly lost and swore to never lose again.

Stiles flipped them over and worshipped Derek in a way that made him feel at once powerful and weak. Stiles knelt between Derek's legs and kissed and nuzzled and licked before taking Derek into his mouth. Breathless and trembling, Derek shoved Stiles away before he was made to come.

He was emboldened by Stiles' rich laugh. He pushed Stiles onto his hands and knees. He pressed kisses along Stiles' spine. He put his mouth on Stiles and tongued him open until he begged for mercy. He worked a finger into Stiles using a slippery salve prepared for this express purpose, then two, then three. Stiles' desperate keens made Derek's cock harder than it had ever been.

Derek pulled Stiles' hips up. He waited for Stiles to steady himself on his elbows. He rutted against the cleft of Stiles' ass until Stiles looked over his shoulder at him and said, " _Gods_ , just, _please_."

Derek took himself in hand and mounted his mate. Slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurt Stiles. But Stiles, impatient as ever, pushed back until Derek was completely sheathed. It took all that he had to keep from spilling then.

He mouthed at Stiles' shoulder and thrusted shallowly until neither could stand it and fucked hard until they both came.

They collapsed onto the bed, blissed and sated, and clung to the other, murmuring soft affectations, until they drifted into sleep, never to part again.

*

A majestic stag and fearsome wolf ruled the woods where hunters never dared go. They played at prey and predator. They slept beneath a great oak tree when they were tired. They watched the sun set and the moon rise every day, and...

And they lived happily ever after.

* * *

56.

_Once upon a time, in a kingdom not so far away, there lived a very lonely king. He had no queen, nor princes or princesses. He had no subjects, either._

_One day, when the king was surveying his land, he came across two interlopers: a prince and his knight. The prince begged for mercy, they were lost, he'd said, but it was the knight's handsome visage and heart of gold that intrigued the king and persuaded his leniency._

_After many years and countless trials with the knight coming to the king's aid without hesitation and despite great fear, the king began to value and respect the noble knight._

_Now, the king was aware of a great many kingdoms and lands outside of his own borders, but he had explored only one before he met the stalwart knight. That mysterious land was full of smooth plains and supple, rolling hills; it was beautiful, but treacherous._

_He was lured to a deep cave within a haunted forest by an evil bi— witch. It was filled with lush treasures and greater pleasures, but when he returned to his family lands, it was to find them in ruins and ash. From that day forward, the young king vowed never again to explore foreign lands._

_But our noble and headstrong knight wouldn't stand for the solitude so desired by the king. He wished with all his heart to draw the king out of his shell, to get him to visit the knight's own lands, to live in the world once again._

_It didn't help that his immediate attraction to the king would be neither quashed nor ignored. It arose in reminder at the most inopportune times. The knight found himself frozen with it, nearly dripping in anticipation from being near the handsome, fearless king. He wished to be close to the king at all times, to visit the king's royal chambers and be wrapped up tight in the king's opulent cape with him._

_The turning point came one day when the knight and the king joined forces to aid the prince in a quest to slay a dragon. Little did they know, the dragon had a master and had no command of his own actions. But the master was cruel and cunning and he locked the brave knight and dashing king up together—nary an inch of space between them. They wriggled against each other in a frantic, fruitless bid for freedom, and it was at that moment that the knight first—finally,_ thankfully _—felt the king's attraction for him._

_This was no trivial attraction, but seemed to consume the king fully, straightening his back and ruffling his cape about. This was temptation and desire personified. At long last, their passion acknowledged, things began to change between the rugged king and his spunky knight._

_Their ardor professed, the king finally began to explore the knight's estate. It was vastly different from the witch's lands he had previously surveyed and which had cost him so much. These lands were lavish and plentiful; dotted with stiff peaks, and sharp outcroppings. But the lands were also fertile and brought the king great comfort._

_It felt like weeks before the king was ready to plunge into the greatest depths of the knight's lands. And when the king finally entered the knight's—_

"Stiles, why are you talking to my penis?"

"I'm telling it the story of how I finally got you into bed."

"Is— is the _king_ my dick?"

"Yup. And now that the king is awake, maybe he wants to plunder my dark tower?"

_The king did, indeed, spend many hours displaying great strength and stamina plundering the knight's dark tower. And would again for many months and years to follow, as they lived happily ever after._

* * *

57.

He’d thought Deaton was joking when he took one look at Scott and murmured, “Sleeping Beauty”. That’s what passes for humor in Beacon Hills, right? Except, of course, Deaton isn’t joking, because that’s not his style. Staring enigmatically and giving cryptic clues is Deaton’s style. That’s precisely what he does.

“The spell isn’t harmful,” he says, like he’s gentling a ferret. “It’s more… inconvenient. He may even awaken on his own.”

“When?” Stiles asks, because he’s so practised in asking the pertinent questions it’s too rapid a response to refer to it as second nature.

“Two, maybe three months.”

“How do we wake him before that?”

“There are many solutions to be found among lore and legend…”

Stiles has no patience to speak of, and it’s painfully obvious when he puts a hand in front of Deaton’s face and yells at him. “Tell me the most commonly used, for the love of God.”

“A kiss,” Deaton says. There’s a pregnant pause. In Stiles’ experience, these are never good. “From one who loves him, whom he loves in return.”

He does his damnedest to pretend like everything’s going to be a-okay. “Easy. I’ll get Melissa on the phone.”

“Not that kind of love.”

Fuck.

He half-suspected this would be true. Stiles begins the slow, sure descent into hell.

*

They can only kiss Scott once every three days. Something about checks and balances, compensation, the law of threes, yada yada. Stiles stopped paying attention to speeches approximately forever ago.

Kira kisses Scott first. They dated for two months, so it should work, but it looks flat. Malia goes next, but there’s nothing. Then Lydia; the same. Stiles feels weird that he doesn’t feel weirder seeing Lydia kiss Scott. Once upon a time that would have wrought bloody-minded vengeance, but he’s a combination of annoyed and frantic that it’s been this long and Scott’s still in the land of nod. Isaac comes back from Paris to bestow his kiss, seems put out that Scott remains asleep until the moment he catches Malia’s eye. Derek shrugs and gives Scott the sweetest-looking of all the kisses. 

“Wrong kind of love, I suppose.”

“There’s no such thing, surely,” Stiles replies, more than a little wound up.

He gets eight pats on the back.

It’s not like he wants to find out Scott’s in love again, he just wants his best friend. The next couple of days suck the most, because he knows that when it’s his turn, Scott remaining dead to the world will be confirmation of everything he’s never wanted to know.

*

For the first time since this started, Stiles sits next to Scott and really looks at him. He’d asked to be left alone. No one questioned why. He’s held Scott’s hand a couple times a week, has sat and told him about his day, but he hasn’t _cataloged_. Scott looks beautiful, well-rested and calm. Stiles has never wanted to hear his voice more.

He leans in, presses their lips together. It’s perfunctory, professional. Has to be or he thinks he’ll crack in two. He doesn’t expect the hand that shoots out and grasps hold of his wrist, or Scott’s eyes slowly opening.

“Hey,” Scott murmurs. His lips curve into an indulgent smile. “Do that again.”

Stiles does. He’s never had so much an iron will as an aluminum one. Scott pulls him onto the bed, cards his fingers through his hair as he claims his mouth. It’s messier than Stiles has ever expected, rougher. Scott kisses him like he may never get the chance again.

“You should’ve gone first,” Scott intones, smoothing his hands over Stiles’ lower back.

“You knew what was happening?”

“Ahuh.”

“You have to tell me. I want ratings.”

Scott’s fingers venture under Stiles’ waistband and he quirks an eyebrow. “Right now?”

Stiles shakes his head so fast he feels it might fall off.

It takes no time for them to get naked and rut against one another. Stiles would be ashamed, except he isn’t. Scott reaches under his bed and pulls out a tube of slick to ease the way. It warms up quickly, pools in Scott’s dips and hollows. Stiles moans and whimpers into Scott’s mouth, rocking his hips back and forth. Wet, hot, perfect. He loves how Scott grips him tight, makes him slow down, savor. He’s close, just needs a little more.

Scott pulls back from a particularly desperate kiss to brush his thumb over Stiles’ cheek.

“Come for me?” he whispers.

Stiles comes hard.

“Always.”

* * *

58.

Stilinski’s pale, skeletal, half-dead and looking to slide into full when Jackson sees him for the first time in well over a year. He bares his teeth, mean without provocation. “Lydia isn’t here,” he spits.

Even over the crap Skype connection, Jackson can hear the drag of his heartbeat—too slow. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks, against his better judgment, expression twisted like he might catch whatever plague Stilinski’s clearly contracted.

Stilinski blanches, snaps, “Your face,” and closes Lydia’s laptop on him.

Which is fine with Jackson, looking at that much unattractiveness had been more than worthy of a _Fear Factor_ -esque challenge.

* * *

He doesn’t know why he keeps staring at it— _youvebeensolo’d_. He never should have saved the damn thing, but Lydia wouldn’t let it go. ‘You were both the things that went bump in the night; discuss.’

Honestly, he’s more surprised that Stilinski answers than that he’s called. “Lydia told me,” he says bluntly.

Stilinski still looks like shit, coming into focus slowly. The skin under his eyes is smudged dark and his sockets are sunken. “And you’ve retained it this long? Kudos, Scaly.”

Jackson tilts his head to the side, decides, “You look like death.”

“You look like a douche.” Stilinski jerks back and Jackson focuses until he can hear the Sheriff calling up to him. He leaves without so much as a ‘peace, dickwipe,’ comes back a half hour later and collapses face first into his bed.

Jackson doesn’t end the session. Instead, he lets Stilinski’s breathing slip between the notes of _Street Lights_ while he finishes his Romanticism essay. He’s been lulled into a light doze himself by the time he hears the spike in the heartbeat, the thrashing. Stilinski’s wrapped up in his sheets, holding a pencil in his fist above his abdomen.

“Stilinski! _Stiles_.” Dark eyes shoot open, fingers tighten and release, and Stilinski drops the makeshift katana. Lydia’d told Jackson about that too. “You were dreaming.”

Stilinski pants, looks over at him like he has no idea how he got there. He swallows and drags in air like it’s in limited supply. When he’s not so desperate for it, he hefts himself up and over, his collar drenched with sweat. He sits down heavily, doesn’t meet Jackson’s eyes. “I killed a lot of people.”

It sounds like the start to a 12-step meeting. ‘Hello, I’m Stiles and I killed a lot of people.’

The first step is admitting it.

Jackson smirks and arches both eyebrows. It’s a weak shield. “The police department doesn’t fare well around there, does it?”

Stilinski’s staring down at his hands. “How do you sleep?”

Jackson lets the words twist out of his mouth. “I don’t.” Stilinski nods, starts to stand. “Stiles.” He freezes, tensing up, and Jackson sighs. “You slayed the dragon, you know—freed the princess from the tower or whatever and now you’re moving on to—to the happily ever after.” He shrugs, says somewhat wryly, “It’s not as easy as the fairy tales make it out to be.”

Stilinski actually manages to crack a smile. Jackson gets the feeling it’s been a while since the last one and _he’s_ the one who got it out of him. “I’m the princess, am I?” Stilinski asks sardonically.

Jackson means to give him a superior sneer. He’s pretty sure his eyes linger too long on Stilinski’s mouth to pull it off.

* * *

Jackson wakes him from the nightmares. Night after night. Stilinski never thanks him for it. Which is fine. Jackson never wants him to.

He jokingly tells Stilinski that jerking off tends to ensure a dreamless sleep. He’d only been half-hoping it would lead to him getting his dick out.

It does.

* * *

Stiles wipes his come-covered hand off on his sheets, because he’s disgusting, and blinks wide eyes at him. Jackson’s no better, t-shirt soaked through and thighs still spread obscenely. “You watch me sleep,” Stiles says somewhat snidely, because Jackson’s the only person he can still be cruel to without having to watch him then search for some hint of _void_ behind it. “Is being creepy as shit a werewolf trait?”

Jackson grins, chest still heaving. He points at Stiles. “Princess.” Then to himself. “Knight.”

Stiles looks up at him, eyes searching, and says slowly, “They tend to end up together, you know?”

Jackson shrugs, feigning nonchalance while his heart pounds painfully in his chest. “At least I know you don’t snore.”

* * *

59.

Cora presses her cheek against the bark and closes her eyes, her claws sinking a little deeper into the trunk of the tree. She tries to calm herself down, and yet…

“Could you go any fucking slower, Stilinski?”

She hears a snort somewhere below her, but doesn’t look to see how far. “This would be a lot easier if you would let down your hair so I can climb up.”

“Fuck. You.”

“Just a suggestion, but you may not want to antagonize the person who’s rescuing you,” he says, and there’s a _crunch_ that makes Cora’s stomach lurch. Stiles, however, sounds infuriatingly calm. “Food for thought.”

“Stiles,” she says, trying to control her breathing, “no offense, but was there literally no one else they could spare? Someone of the werewolf persuasion?” She wouldn’t admit it under pain of death, but she doesn’t want him to see her like this.

“ _Literally_ everyone else is fighting the harpies. You remember, the ones that put you up here in the first place?”

He sounds like he’s getting closer, and every time he moves up another step, the tree shakes a little. Not much, but more than Cora would like. Stiles must be almost here; she can smell the sharp tang of his sweat and hear a great deal of grunting and creaking.

“So,” Stiles says, and he sounds like he’s right in front of her now. “A werewolf who’s afraid of heights. How does that work?”

She forces herself to open her eyes and Stiles is not even two feet away, perched on a branch on the opposite side of the tree. He’s got a coil of rope tossed over his shoulder and he’s tying one end of it to the branch. “We don’t spend a lot of time flying,” she grits out. 

His smile is crooked and bright, though there’s no hint of mockery in it and she could kiss him for that. Once they’re safely on the ground, where nature intended all non-winged creatures to remain.

He just shifts until he’s standing on the branch and reaches out for her. “Okay, we can do this one of two ways. You could climb on my back and—”

“Nope.”

“Okay, we can do this one of one way…”

^^^

Later, Stiles only makes one fear-of-heights joke when Cora shoves his naked body onto the bed and climbs on top of him. She’s well aware that he goes pretty nonverbal when she’s riding him.

There are scratches and scrapes on the hands that reach for her, that gently squeeze her breasts and rub over her nipples. She arches into the touch and gives him room to piston up into her, closing her eyes to listen to the sweet, helpless noises he makes when she clenches around him. 

He drops a hand down to fumble at her clit. It won’t make her come, but it feels good, sends lovely little shocks of sensation through her pelvis as she rocks down on him. He’s saying her name now, which means he won’t take much longer, so she opens her eyes to see the way his eyes screw shut and his neck arches. She leans down to bite and he shouts, shuddering beneath her as he comes.

Before she can even give him a proper hickey, he pulls out of her and makes quick work of the condom before yanking her forward on the bed. She catches herself on the headboard before he goes in for the kill, licking at her in long, flat swipes that have her pressing her hips against his face.

She feels open and hungry for two of his clever fingers, too worked up for the way his tongue is flicking lightly against her swollen clit. She snarls and he laughs, the vibrations of it making her voice drop into a whimper. After that, he stops fucking around, puts his mouth right where she needs it most and rolls his tongue against her. Then he _sucks_ and she falls right over the edge, riding out the hard shivers, trapped between his mouth and his fingers.

They end up in a sweaty tangle with only the minimal involvement of sheets. Stiles is giving her that tender look that she never knows what to do with, so she reverts to what she knows best: snark. “Don’t start thinking you’re my Prince Charming or anything.”

Stiles laughs, showily licking his lips that are still wet with her. “I’d like to see Prince Charming do _that_.”

* * *

60.

 

“Women in our family have three weapons,” Lydia’s mother said, taking Lydia’s tiny hands in hers and clucking at her torn fingernails and bloody knuckles. “Fists aren’t one of them.”

“But--!”

Her mother shushed her. “If you fight, fight to win. Use your mind, not your fists. Your mind is your first weapon.” She nodded at their reflections in the mirror. “Your second is beauty.”

Lydia winced at her black eye and dirt-streaked face.

“Nothing a bath and some concealer won’t fix,” her mother said.

“Make-up?” Lydia breathed. Her mother nodded. Lydia snuggled into her side. “What’s the third weapon?”

Her mother smiled mysteriously. “You’ll find out when you’re older.”

~*~

Scott and Isaac balanced mirrors from the trees, beaming moonlight into Allison's open grave. Lydia squeezed Stiles's hand. Isaac's lips moved in a silent prayer. Hope and despair warred on Scott’s face.

Nothing happened.

"Why isn't it working?" Lydia cried. "It worked with Peter!"

"Peter was a werewolf," a woman said, her face obscured by the hood of a purple cloak. The werewolves growled. Stiles drew Lydia behind him.

She lowered the hood.

“You're a _Ban Sidhe_ ,” her mother said. “To resurrect a human, you’ll need your third weapon-"

"My voice!"

Her mother smiled proudly. Together, they called to Allison.

~*~

It should have been a happy ending, but still the Nemeton shrieked for restitution. Roots and branches papered the walls of Lydia's bedroom. She borrowed books from Deaton, Chris, Derek, even Peter. She dreamt in Latin.

One morning, Lydia opened a lipstick tube. Two hours later, she blinked at a ritual scrawled across the mirror in MAC Flamingo.

They gathered at the Nemeton that evening. Lydia and Allison. Stiles and Scott. Derek. Five points on a pentacle. Five fingers on a hand. Five for wholeness.

When Lydia outlined the plan, Derek scowled. “No.”

Scott shot a questioning glance at Allison, who smiled. “I trust Lydia.”

“Well I don’t!” Derek turned, but Stiles caught his elbow.

“Trust _me_ ,” he said. “This will work.”

Derek stared into Stiles’s eyes, still hollow from the Nogitsune. He nodded.  
Allison’s mouth tasted like the Reeses cups they’d shared in the car. She squeezed Lydia’s hand, and dimpled at Scott before kissing him, too, sweet and familiar. Laughing, Scott and Stiles shared a wet, smacking kiss.

Still grinning, Stiles turned to Derek, who caught him by the shirt and hauled him in. Stiles flailed, then his hands found Derek’s shoulders. Derek hugged him tight, almost lifting him off his feet. They leaned forehead to forehead, dazed.

Lydia tapped Derek’s shoulder. When he turned, she stepped onto her tiptoes, kissed him chastely. Winking at him, she pulled off her sundress.

Stiles tripped attempting to remove his jeans and get to Lydia without letting go of Derek’s hand.

“Can I eat you out?” He glanced apologetically at Derek. “It doesn’t mean– I don’t, not anymore, but I’ve always wanted–”

“It’s _fine_.”

“I’ll ride your face, while Derek goes down on you,” Lydia suggested. “Okay?”

Derek was already unbuttoning his jeans.

Stiles sprawled bonelessly on the Nemeton. Kneeling over him, Lydia lowered herself until his nose brushed her cunt. He surged up, gripping her hips, dragging his whole face through her cunt before going to work.

Lydia sighed happily.

Stiles froze, groaning, before diving back in with renewed enthusiasm. Lydia glanced back in time to see Derek swallowing Stiles’s cock. Derek blushed, but kept working his way down Stiles’s length. Lydia touched Derek’s cheek, carded fingers through his hair. Then warm hands cupped her breasts, drawing her attention.

Allison gave her a devilish smile, small breasts bouncing as Scott fucked her from behind. Bowing her head, Allison latched onto a nipple, mouth hot and perfect.

“Hot!” Scott groaned, leaning forward. He kissed like she remembered, fierce and determined. He nipped her lower lip and Lydia whimpered, grinding down on Stiles’s face. Heat rose in her belly. She gripped Scott’s shoulder, other hand tangling into Allison’s silky hair.

Stiles shoved at her hips. Lydia lifted up to give him air. But two surprisingly thick fingers drove inside her, right before his mouth closed over her clit again. Panting, she glanced back in time to see Derek’s hand wedged between her body and Stiles’s face, his other hand pumping frantically between his legs.

Cool air engulfed her wet nipple as Allison pulled off, shuddering in ecstasy. Scott cupped Lydia’s cheek, licking into her mouth just as Derek’s fingers crooked hard.

Lydia threw back her head.

And screamed.

* * *

61.

 

Very loosely inspired by The Princess Who Never Smiled

Sometimes, Derek thinks the worst thing about the nogitsune attack is the sadness that lingers in Stiles. Derek has spent most of his time with the Stilinskis lately, after signing on as deputy to help the sheriff with the supernatural cases.

He can see the way the Stiles is slipping, the way he never smiles or looks anyone in the eyes anymore. He isn’t bold. He’s fading into the background, and it’s killing Derek.

He decides to do something about it when he finds out Stiles skipped his junior prom.

The setup isn’t elaborate, like he’s seen sometimes on television. Derek just isn’t the type of person for grand gestures. He’s always been a creative, albeit simplistic person. But he’s cleared out the main room of the loft and set up a few tables covered with a clean, white cloth. Sheer fabric covers the walls, and there’s some old Christmas lights looping around the edges of the ceiling. Lastly, and he’ll admit this was all Lydia’s idea, there are white balloons strung from the ceiling, creating an almost cloudlike effect mere feet above his head.

With the lights dimmed and music playing softly in the background, though, it’s a fairytale.

Stiles’s reaction when he sees it does not disappoint. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open.

“Derek, wha-?”

Derek feels self conscious, standing in the middle of his transformed loft, wearing a three piece suit.

“You didn’t go to prom, so I brought prom to you.” He cringes and hopes he doesn’t sound lame.

If he does, Stiles doesn’t seem to notice. Stiles looks…entranced. Then regretful. “I don’t have a suit.”

Derek leads Stiles to his bedroom. Spread out across the bed is a suit nearly identical to Derek’s. “Your father brought it over.”

Derek waits for Stiles in the main room. Stiles soon returns, tie in hand. He twists the fabric around his fingers. “I’ve never really been good at these,” he says.

Derek takes the tie from him, loops it around his neck and tucks it under his collar. Once he’s done with the knot, he smooths it out, fingers skimming across the silk of the tie and the soft cotton his shirt. It takes a moment for him to realize how close they are to each other. He feels Stiles’s breath brush across his cheek, feels the heat from Stiles’s body radiating through him. When he looks up, their gazes lock. “You look beautiful,” Derek says, before he can stop himself.  
Stiles freezes for a moment, and then a slow, soft smile spreads across his face. It lights up his eyes, tension releases from his shoulders, and the lines around his mouth disappear. It’s as if Stiles has shed years in front of him. He’s radiant and young and _happy_. Derek doesn’t even try to stop himself when he reaches up to gently run his thumb along Stiles’s bottom lip.

A sweet song is playing, and before he can second guess himself, Derek pulls Stiles closer, into his arms. He rests his hands on Stiles’s waist and leans forward until his forehead rests against Stiles’s. It’s intimate, even more so when Stiles slides his hands up around Derek’s neck, and it’s no effort at all to touch their lips together in a chaste kiss as they sway slowly.

They pull apart for a moment, then press back together, the kiss deepening when Stiles slides his tongue into Derek’s mouth. They kiss and taste and revel in each other. The songs change, and neither notices, and Derek can’t breathe because even with his eyes closed, he can feel Stiles grinning against his lips, and he thinks he might burst from happiness.

They dance and kiss and touch, for hours, it seems, until Derek loses track of the songs that have played, until the moon has shifted in the sky and he senses dawn is only a couple hours away.

It’s Stiles who leads Derek back to the bedroom, lays him across the bed and fits himself between Derek’s legs. Stiles’s tastes the skin of his neck, and Derek splays his hand across Stiles’s back, tracing his spine as their clothed groins press together.

And through it all, Stiles continues to smile, and Derek grins back, an easy feat in Stiles’s presence. They lay there, after, in each other’s arms, as the sun rises and bathes them in light.

He hears Stiles whisper just before he falls asleep. “Thank you.”

* * *

62.

Hi, my name is Erica Reyes and I’m no angel. Well, I guess technically I am. I’m dead. I’m in heaven. But it’s complicated. Though I suppose it’s not really that complicated if you’ve ever seen _It’s A Wonderful Life_ or any of the other million hokey movies where people die and they have to earn their wings.

My mission is now to unite one Isaac Lahey with his apparent soulmate Scott McCall, a caramel-coated hottie with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen. Isaac has a bit of a rough exterior but underneath he’s a really sensitive and kind person. How hard could this be?

_Famous. Last. Words._

I’ve seen enough romantic comedies to know that they were going to need a meet cute. I’m lazy so I just decided to wait until they were both in the same place at the same time. I didn’t have to wait long when they both ended up at the Beacon Hills skating rink. Isaac always liked to go there to unwind and found skating to be relaxing. Scott was dragged there by his hyper, skinny, but oddly cute best friend Stiles. _Man, I could have made a meal out of that boy when I was alive._

Even though they were at the same place, Isaac and Scott never bumped into each other. Impatient, I decided to speed things along and guide Scott toward Isaac.

_Big mistake._

Scott ended up flying across the ice and couldn’t get control before he crashed into Isaac and landed on top of him with a loud thud.

Isaac wasn’t a happy camper and yelled at Scott before storming off.

So, it was back to the drawing board for me. And, what I came up with I’m not exactly proud of, so don’t judge. You see, Scott works at a vet’s off. And Isaac has the cutest little golden retriever named Lucky. And what better way to get two people together than a cute puppy. An...injured cute puppy.

Yes, I maimed a dog to get what I needed. He was going to be fine.

“He’s going to be fine.” Scott told Isaac.

_See._

It was working. I could see the way Isaac was looking at Scott has he went above and beyond to be not only kind and sweet to Lucky, but to Isaac as well.

This could be it. They’d exchange numbers and go on a date and see how perfect they were for each other. _Bang!_ Next stop sex and love and marriage and babies and…

You have got to be kidding me. After staring at each other awkwardly for eternity, they just said goodbye. No number. No date. No sex. _Uggggh!_

Alright, it was time for these two to date whether they liked it or not. Well, kind of. I arranged for them to be seated next to each other while they simultaneously experienced the worst blind dates ever. Isaac’s date was so boring that Isaac almost lapsed into a coma. And Scott was paired with a fiery red-head who abruptly left after telling Scott he wasn’t her match intellectually and probably would be too timid in bed.

_Ouch ___

But it was a good thing. Because Isaac took pity on Scott, and after ditching his date Greenberg invited himself over. He and Scott eventually hit it off. They talked about everything - their families, past pets, past loves, favorite sports team. An honest to goodness date. They just had to kiss and they would seal the deal.

But more than just kissing ensued. They put on an honest to goodness sex show when they got to Isaac’s apartment. And boy, was that Lydia chick wrong. Scott took control when they got to the bedroom. He bit marks into Isaac’s neck that wouldn’t heal for days - maybe months. And Isaac loved it.

Scott turned him over and thrust into him roughly over and over again. Isaac came. Scott came. And if I weren’t dead, I would have came as well.

_Fucking finally!_ I had earned my wings. And wow, they popped in fast.

I got my wings, I magicked up some popcorn, and settled back on a cloud as the boys got ready for round 2.

* * *

63.

 

"My _what_?"

The girl sighs and plants both hands on her hips. "Your fairy godmother. You can call me Lydia."

"Right," Stiles says. "Well, Lydia, is this going to take much longer? Not that you aren't lovely, but I have a run to finish and a job to get to."

Lydia huffs. "Don't move," she orders, and smacks him on top of the head with her wand.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

Lydia snorts. "If you think I'm saying _bippity-boppity-boo_ , you're delusional."

"If you think I thought that I'm Cinderella, _you're_ delusional."

Lydia laughs. "I like you, Stiles. Now go fall in love."

Between one blink and the next she disappears, leaving Stiles alone again in the woods.

Well, he thinks he's alone until he hears the snap of a twig nearby and jerks his head around to see a painfully gorgeous man step out from behind a tree.

*

The man's name is Derek, and Stiles is about eighty-five percent sure he isn't dangerous. He starts running with Stiles every morning, meeting him in the preserve and then continuing his workout when Stiles has to leave for work.

Derek is quiet and withdrawn at first, like he's not entirely sure how to interact with Stiles, but Stiles is nothing if not persistent and eventually Derek starts to open up more and more.

*

"Go out with me," Stiles blurts, surprising himself. He's wanted to ask Derek out for months now, but he's never been sure if his advances would be welcome.

Derek's head snaps up, eyes going wide and vulnerable. "Out?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Like on a date. We can do the whole dinner and a movie thing, or we can, I don't know, go bowling?"

A myriad of emotions flicker over Derek's face before settling on regret. "Stiles, I can't. I'm sorry."

Stiles' stomach sinks. "Okay," he says. He looks away for a moment, swallowing hard, and then back to Derek. "I think I'm going to go."

Derek doesn't follow.

*

"So how's it going?"

Lydia is standing in the middle of his living room. 

"It isn't _going_ at all," Stiles snaps.

"Why the hell not? It's been ages, surely the two of you have fallen for each other by now."

"One of us has," Stiles says stiffly.

"Stiles," Lydia says, pointing her wand at him, "get your ass to the preserve tomorrow morning before dawn, while it's still dark. If you don't, I will find a way to hex you, fairy godmother or not."

*

So it turns out that Derek is stuck in the woods, cursed by a dark witch. During the day he's human, but at night he's a full-fledged wolf.

"My life is a goddamned fairytale," Stiles says, and leans over to plant a firm kiss on Derek's muzzle.

*

"Is this what you wanted?" Derek asks, leaning down to bite at the back of Stiles' neck. "My hard dick deep inside you?"

"Yes," Stiles gasps, shifting back for more despite Derek already being balls deep. "Oh god yes, you feel so good, oh fuck –"

It's hard and rough and exactly what Stiles wants, and he moans, open-mouthed and loud. Derek growls and snaps his hips over and over, rutting into Stiles so hard it pushes him up the pile of blankets.

"Oh god, oh fuck," Derek moans, shoving deep and _grinding_ for a few seconds before continuing with his brutal pace.

Stiles can do nothing but lie there and take it, face pressed into the blankets and ass in the air as Derek slams into him. All sorts of sounds are pouring from Stiles' mouth, garbled words and choked off moans, his body thrumming with heat and pleasure.

"Gonna come," Derek gasps out, thrusts going from long and hard to short and wild. "Gonna come, _Stiles_ –"

Stiles lets out a desperate sob, reaching with one hand for his aching dick. He hadn't wanted to touch it until Derek was ready, and now he grips himself tightly and gives a few harsh strokes. Stiles clenches down hard when he comes, eyes rolling back as his dick pulses in his hand. Behind him Derek digs his fingers in and slams deep, grinding again, hips hitching as he fills Stiles with his come.

*

Bringing Derek back into civilization won't be easy, but Stiles thinks they'll probably live happily ever after anyway.

* * *

64.

 

"Get to your charge. Get him out of here," Derek wheezes, thrown into a wall. Boyd pauses to consider but Derek gets back to his feet and snarls, dives into two of Decalion's soldiers and knocks them back, holds them at bay.

The tower stairs are silent as Boyd takes them two at a time, leaving the skirmish behind.

There's nothing up here but the clatter of his armor and the faint, rapid heartbeat of the Beast, hiding in his bedroom.

At the top, Boyd draws his sword and carefully, slowly pushes the tower room's door ajar.

He's stood sentry outside this door for years, slept on these stones and still he's never set foot within.

He lets himself into the quiet dark.

 

"Don't look at me," the Beast says softly, hiding his face miserably in his hands, his drawn up knees.

"It is Vernon Boyd of Hale Pack. I've come to take you to safety," he says and sets his sword in offering to the Beast.

The Beast's shoulders stiffen and he breathes out _Boyd_? Remembering the conversations they've had, through the door. The way they held hands one time, through a crack in the door, his little, strange paw trembling in Boyd's.

"Please. Parrish, you have to come," Boyd says and he can hear the begging quality of his own voice. "I can't protect you here anymore."

Parrish is shivering now, frightened. "I can't let you see me. _I can't_."

Boyd sets his sword on the mussed bed and steps carefully closer. Gently, he puts his hands to the Beast's wrists, mumbles "Trust me," and tugs his hands away from his face.

The Beast is strange to look on. Moon faced and flat-featured, he blinks up at Boyd and hitches in a sharp breath.

Boyd smiles, fangs bright and burnished.

The Beast's mouth opens, all stunned. " _Oh_ , you're beautiful."

"Come," Boyd draws him up to his feet. "Come away. I am charged with your protection."

The Beast swallows, eyes following Boyd as he straps his sword back on.

"I will," Parrish agrees, faintly. "I will go where ever you go."

 

The world is changing and the Were kings no longer search for the strange Beast who disappeared into the Hale forests and into obscurity like his brethren before him.

You can find him, humming away at his work in a little cottage by a brook in the old alder grove.

"These are good," Derek says with pride, lifting the Beast's leather work up to check it in the firelight.

The Beast smiles shyly. His mask hangs by the door now where Boyd rests his jacket, his baldric. The pack has grown comfortable with him, has remade his odd features into something dear.

"He's quiet like you," his Alpha muses when Parrish slips out for brook water. Boyd shrugs. Derek doesn't see the way the Beast chatters like a happy little squirrel to Boyd, when they're all alone.

At night, Parrish moves like a pinned creature, like a _frantic_ little squirrel, scrawny-chested and blotchy, body _singing_ underneath Boyd's, tuned to him, lit up and almost lovely in his pleasure.

"You--" Parrish always says, so astonished with Boyd, touching his strong face, the cut and sinew of the wolf in his brow.

They mate in a tumble, Parrish's body rippling around him, so unexpectedly receptive and wanton-hot inside. It is not the matching companionship of a wolf, but it is good, good enough to make Boyd pant into mottled skin, burn so brightly for him.

And when he comes, Parrish sets little, blunt teeth in Boyd's shoulder like a nipping cub, and Boyd shakes dust out of the cottage walls when he roars in return.

* * *

65.

 

Lydia walks into the room, dressed in a red leather bustier and little else. Derek strains against the table, the restraints cutting into his wrists, his nails cutting into his palms. She's holding something, but he can't tell what it is, not from his angle.

"My, what big eyes you have," she says, caressing his leg with her free hand. Her nails catch against his skin, sending shivers up his body. He feels his cock grow harder, feels it straining against his stomach. She runs her fingertips over it slowly, agonizingly. He strains upwards, desperate for a firmer touch, and she pulls away, smiling. As his body falls to rest against the table, she lays her hand flat against his stomach, just barely brushing his erection. Pressing just shy of too hard, she moves her hand over his skin, boldly following the contours of his flesh. He licks his lips, breathing heavily, skin breaking out in a thin sheen of sweat and goosebumps. She smiles, mouth quirked in a small grin, as she quickly pinches a nipple, making him gasp. Her grin turns feral, and she cups his neck, nails resting heavily behind his ear.

"My, what big teeth you have," she says, thumbing his mouth open. He lets his jaw fall loose, dropping open so that she can slip her thumb into the wet heat. He bites down gently, then sucks her thumb deep into his mouth, tongue wrapping carefully around the digit. His cheeks hollow out, drawing it in. He sees Lydia shiver and feels a flush of pride rush through him. She pulls her hand back, her thumb escaping from Derek's mouth with a loud, wet pop. She presses her hand to the table, then lifts herself over his body, legs splayed across his stomach. She's wet, the thin material of her panties dark and damp.

"My, what a big mouth you have." She leans forward, the words whispered against his lips. The kiss is more passionate than he expects, their teeth clashing harshly before it softens. Derek opens underneath her, letting her lead, more than happy to follow. Her tongue is warm and solid against his, the taste of her mouth making him groan and raise up from the table, hips tilting, desperate. Lydia clucks her tongue at him, lifting away, mouth swollen and red. That's when Derek sees the knife, sharp and gleaming in her hand.

She presses it gently against his throat, and he bares it, feeling his pulse racing, beating against the solid steel. She trails the sharp point over his skin, leaving a small indent where she presses, hard enough to mark but not hard enough to cut. He groans, fighting the urge to arch his back, to press into the cold metal. Lydia knows what she's doing, grinning above him like a hunter eyeing prey, already caught and struggling in her trap. She slowly trails the blade up her own leg, brushing it under the tight fabric of her panties, then slits the silk in one smooth tug. It falls to the side. Derek can see how wet she is, wants to taste her against his mouth, to press his tongue inside. She slowly slinks up his body, knife forgotten by her knee, fingers and lips trailing up his skin. She nips at his collarbone, licks a line up his neck to his ear.

“Are you going to eat me up?” She asks, biting down on the soft lobe. He groans, twists against the ropes, and she pulls away, legs bracketing his chest. She leans her body forward, brings her pussy so it’s hovering above his mouth. He leans up, presses his mouth to it, as Lydia gasps above him, thighs shaking. He runs his tongue lazily up the center, mouth flooding with her flavor. He circles her clit, pressing gently against it with the flat of his tongue, then dipping inside of her. It’s intoxicating. The sounds she makes. The taste, the scent. The slight twinge of pain when she grinds against his face a little too hard, lost in her pleasure.

She falls forward when she comes, catching herself with a hand tangled in Derek’s hair, pulling hard enough to tear a few strands loose. She slides down his body, limp and sated. She pets his hair absentmindedly, then climbs off the table.

“Good boy,” she says, grinning.

* * *

66.

**Warnings:** None  
 **Pairing:** Stiles/fucking machine; Stiles/Derek

_Once upon a time…_ Stiles was a fucking idiot.

It couldn't have been more obviously a trap if it were a spinning wheel on his sixteenth birthday or a little piece of cake that said, "Eat me." But Stiles just couldn't resist the allure. He could only hope the pack – hell, the entire _town_ – wasn't placed under some sort of sleep enchantment just because he was a horny teenager with no common sense.

He knew this was stupid; he acknowledged that even as he approached the bright and shiny fucking machine in the curiously empty room. The empty room that had magically appeared off the hallway he'd _just_ been chasing a witch down.

He _knew_ it was stupid, okay?

But… he was an eighteen-year-old virgin and it was a _fucking machine_ , straight out of his favorite porn! It gleamed in the light, was set up at the perfect height and distance from the wall and… Shit.

Was he seriously going to do this?

Turning around, he bit his lip as he peered out the door and back down the hallway, looking for any sign of the witch or the pack. When no one arrived to talk sense into him, he shrugged, lowered his pants to mid-thigh, and shuffled to the machine.

Apparently he was.

He noticed an attachment on the fucking machine that held a nice-sized bottle of lube. Stiles picked it up, a hysterical laugh bursting from him when he noticed the label. MAGIC-LUBE.

"Of course. Because I _needed_ another reminder of what a stupid idea this is," Stiles muttered to himself. But he refused to back out _now_. He'd already come this far.

Hah! _Come._

As Stiles slid lube-covered fingers inside his ass, he wondered if the witch would give him a lifetime supply of Magic-Lube because _damn_.

\--  
Stiles was ready to scream. Over-stimulation bordering on the painful sent tears dripping down his cheeks as the thick dildo attachment fucked into him relentlessly. He couldn't come and he couldn't move away; when he'd tried, he'd found himself stuck, and masturbating only made things worse.

So now he was just leaning against the wall, back arching with each punishing thrust and thighs quivering in exhaustion. He wanted to die. He wanted to never see another fucking machine as long as he lived.

But mostly? He wanted to _come_.

Another sharp, sobbing groan burst out of him when the machine sped up, bringing him right back to the edge of orgasm but never letting him fall over it.

"Stiles?!" His name rang out in a disbelieving bark of sound, and Stiles turned his head to see which unlucky soul had found him.

Derek. Of _course_ it was Derek. Derek whose eyes were shock-wide and cheeks tinged red in what was most likely some extreme second-hand embarrassment. He just stood there, his jaw slack and fingers biting into the doorjamb, as the machine kept pumping maddeningly into Stiles.

As much as he knew he'd spend the rest of his life regretting this moment, Stiles couldn't help his instinctive reaction to seeing Derek. His dick jumped and a small, needy whine forced itself from his lungs.

When Derek looked like he was about to speak, Stiles just held up his hand, muffling his moans as best he could while he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice breaking every time the dildo glanced over his prostate. "Don't. Don't say it. I know, okay? I know how stupid this was. Now, could you please just get over here and help me?!"

Derek stumbled slightly entering the room, which snapped Stiles out of his arousal-laced stupor. Derek _never_ stumbled and, holy hell, he never looked at Stiles like _that_ , either. Like he just wanted to _be_ the big bad wolf and eat Stiles right up. Fuuuck, the naked longing on his face would have made Stiles come if he was able.

"Derek," Stiles begged. " _Please._ "

In seconds, Derek was on his knees, his perfect lips stretched wide around Stiles' cock. With a sound like a bubble popping, the curse on the fucking machine – or on Stiles, whichever – broke.

Three thrusts later, Stiles came so hard he pulled a muscle in his back.

Totally worth it.

"Next time?" Derek gave Stiles one last lick, then dragged a thumb over his mouth. "Don't let a machine do my job for me."

… _Happily ever after?_ Who the hell knows. But with a promise like that, Stiles was ready to find out.

* * *

67.

 

“Such a bunch of crap,” Stiles huffed as he shimmied into his tights. “They don’t even have the good sense to call them leggings. A dude can wear leggings without batting an eyelash, you know? But _tights_? They don’t exactly bring to mind the badassmotherfucker vibe I usually have going —”

A heavy hand clapped over Stiles’ mouth. It was only because the gloves were white silk that Stiles stopped himself from licking; water stained silk, if Stiles remembered correctly.

“And here I thought you weren’t the type to reduce clothing types to... what did you call it during last week? ‘Arbitrary designations of gender appropriateness?’” Derek interrupted.

Stiles wanted to answer, but he was held still and compliant by the pressure of white silk over red lips. Fortunately, Derek was a deeply observant individual. Intent and predatory, he moved even closer, pressing Stiles against the dressing room wall. Stiles let himself be held, tights still only halfway up his legs and caught around his knees.

Derek’s eyes narrowed in thought. Then he reached down, snuck a hand through the flap in his boxers, and pulled out Stiles’ dick.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles whimpered, or tried to whimper from behind the glove. It came out as more of a snuffling gasp.The swift slide of silk on silky skin had just a little bit too much friction, and he could feel the burn from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears.

_Don’t_ , he wanted to protest. _The silk, the gloves, I can’t come on them, or on your pants — semen is hell on leather_. But he couldn’t make himself protest, mostly because he didn’t want Derek to move his hand away.  
He needn’t have worried. Just as his spine starting arching and his balls started tightening, Derek dropped to his knees and sucked Stiles’ cock down in one swift, practiced motion.

Stiles ducked his head to capture Derek’s silk-clad fingers, which has slipped from Stiles’ lips, into his mouth. He sucked hard on the hot fabric, using it to muffle his cries as orgasm overwhelmed him with perfect pleasure.

“ _Fuck_.” Stiles slid to knees, then turned and braced against the wall. He reached back to tug Derek closer and to help guide Derek’s hard cock in between his thighs. He pulled off his flannel — he hadn’t gotten to the ruffled monstrosity that was his costume shirt yet — and laid it on the floor as a protective measure against Derek’s usual, excessive amount of come.

“Come on,” Stiles urged as Derek started thrusting. Stiles clenched his shaking thighs tight, then guided one of Derek’s gloved hands back to his mouth.

“Fuck, Stiles, anyone could come in, anyone could see,” Derek hissed even as his thrusts grew harder and faster. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_...”  
Shaking and coming, Derek hid his usual orgasmic cry behind a drawn-out groan, and Stiles closed his eyes to better capture the sound in his memory. Then Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ chest and pressed his forehead between Stiles’ shoulders.

“All right, Charming,” Stiles chuckled after Derek calmed. “Only an hour left before the Regional Pack Association’s Samhain Ball. The gloves are a loss but I think the tights are in tact.”

Derek laughed and scooped up Stiles’ flannel to wipe them both clean. He stretched, unashamed of the way his spent cock hung out from the loosened laces of his leather pants, and smirked down at Stiles.

“Oh my god,” Stiles huffed as he awkwardly got to his feet. “You had that planned, didn’t you? I don’t have time for a shower, and now I’m going to reek of you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derek claimed with a false innocence Stiles didn’t buy for a moment.

“Uh huh.” Stiles climbed into the knee-high trousers, ruffled shirt, and velvet coat that made up his Georgian ball outfit. Sure, the red (and lack of a jabot) wasn’t in keeping with historical accuracy, but it didn’t matter. The ball was doubling as his engagement party and he didn’t care about anyone but Derek’s opinion about him. Derek, who was eyeing him appreciatively. Derek, who was going as Stiles’ pirate captive (with unconnected manacles around his wrists for a final touch).

“Wait,” Stiles said, glaring. “Pirates _do not_ wear white silk gloves! You _totally_ planned that!”

Derek laughed again and helped Stiles into his boots, then held out his arm. “Shall we? The ball, and our commonwealth, awaits.”

* * *

68.

“Tell me a story,” Stiles says between coughing fits. He’s lying in bed, hair dishevelled and nose red. A box of tissues sits on the nightstand beside him.

Derek raises a sceptical brow, holding out Stiles’ medication.

“I don’t know how to tell stories,” he says, pulling back the covers and climbing in as Stiles swallows down his pills.

“Yes, you do. Come on, Derek, I’m siiiiiiiick. You’re supposed to be nice to me,” Stiles whines.

They shuffle around on the bed until Stiles is positioned between the V of Derek’s legs, head falling back to rest against his shoulder. Derek curls his arms around Stiles’ waist and presses his nose into the curve of Stiles’ neck. “I’m always nice to you.”

“Ha! Lies!”

Derek rolls his eyes, huffing.

“I’m serious. C’mon. What kind of husband denies the love of his life a story when he’s practically dying?” And then, as if to prove his point, Stiles starts coughing. Again.

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Derek relents, several minutes of coughing and several minutes of silence later. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Stiles lets out a snuffly ‘whoomp’ -- which Derek refuses to admit is adorable -- and settles further between Derek’s legs.

“Once upon a time, there lived an annoying boy who always tried to get his own way-- ow!”

“Not that kind of story, dumbass. Jesus.”

Derek laughs, just a huff of breath. “Fine. Once upon a time, there lived a prince and his wolf.”

“Nice. I see we’re going straight for the cliché.”

“Do you want a story or not?”

“Yes, sorry, continue.”

Derek smiles to himself, slipping one hand under Stiles’ shirt to press against his heart.

“The prince first found the wolf one day when he was in the woods. The wolf was sad and lonely, scared of humans, for they’d killed his entire family. He tried to scare the prince away, but even though he was afraid, the prince wouldn’t leave the wolf alone.”

Stiles snorts softly. “This story is already turning me on.”

Derek heaves an exaggerated sigh as the faint scent of arousal hits his nostrils, but strokes across Stiles’ nipple with his thumb all the same. A soft groan slips past Stiles’ lips as Derek continues with the motion, moving to the other side.

“The prince and the wolf kept running into one another, sometimes in the forest, sometimes in town, and sometimes when one of them was in danger. Despite not trusting humans, the wolf felt protective of the prince.”

Derek’s hand slips lower, running down along the trail of hair from his navel to the top of Stiles’ pajama bottoms, and even if he couldn’t smell the arousal on Stiles, he can already see the way his dick is starting to tent in his pants. Stiles’ breath hitches as Derek runs his fingers just under the seam of his pants, teasing at the skin there.

“God, Derek, c’mon,” Stiles groans.

Stiles lets out a little whimper as Derek finally wraps his hand around his dick, stroking him into full hardness before smearing precome across the head and down, easing away from of the friction. Stiles doesn’t seem to be complaining, however, as he starts to gently thrust his hips into Derek’s fist.

“One day, the prince was out in the woods when someone tried to attack him. The wolf tried to help the prince, but ended up accidentally killing the prince’s attacker instead. The people believed the wolf to be dangerous and wanted him killed, but the prince begged his father to let the wolf live.”  
Derek speeds up his strokes, relishing in the noises Stiles is making, the way his dick is a hot and heavy weight in his hand.

“Because the king was a kind and just man, he allowed the wolf to live, but banned him from the kingdom. The wolf realized then that he actually loved the prince. But because his life was spared, the wolf agreed to leave.”

Stiles is moaning loudly now, rocking his hips into Derek’s hand with a desperation that implies he’s close, so Derek quickens his pace, flicking his wrist the way Stiles likes in order to bring him over the edge. As Stiles comes, Derek reaches down between his own legs, grabbing his own dick and bringing himself off in only a few short strokes.

Derek climbs out of bed, cleans them both up and helps Stiles get settled.

“They eventually live happily ever after though, right?” Stiles mumbles into the pillow.

Derek flicks off the light, curling up behind him and presses a kiss against the nape of Stiles’ neck. “Yeah, they do.”

* * *

69.

 

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, Allison, who was due to be married. Her father was to throw a tourney in her honour, and all the most eligible men in the land would come and compete for her hand.

Allison visited the training ground, watching the men parry with swords and practise jousting. She wondered for a moment what it would be like to be under all that armour, a metal skin protecting her own. She sighed for a moment, and then moved on to the next lot of practising knights – the archers. The archery was Allison's favourite, she loved the swish-thunk of the arrows, the quiet precision that came with the sport.

When she was younger, before her duties started properly, Allison used to sneak out and join the archers. The head knight, a gruff man called Sir Derek would let her use his bow, occasionally offering a word of advice on her stance. Allison missed the times she could escape to spend time in the range, the quiet and the stoic presence of Derek beside her calming her, somehow lessening the suffocating confines of her duties and lessons.

Derek was there now, watching the knights practising.

“Your highness,” he murmured as she approached. The other contestants stopped and almost fell over themselves to bow before her.

“Please, carry on,” she said, feeling herself flush under the scrutiny. The men turned back, more determined than before.

“Are you competing, Sir Derek?” She asked softly, hoping the other knights were too lost in showing off to hear her.

“No, your highness.”

She swallowed, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You would beat these men,” she said softly.

“That's why I'm not competing.”

“You should.” Allison couldn't believe how forward she was being, but a life with Derek, the quiet strength by her side always, was something she wanted. And this was the only time she could reach out and grab it.

Derek looked down at her. She looked back at him, refusing to look away. He nodded at her, and she felt herself flush even more. She nodded and waved at the other knights and then went back to the castle.

 

***

 

Allison sent word for Derek to come to her room, after a long day of celebrating his victory. Derek raised an eyebrow as he realised she had sent her maids away.

Allison held her hand out to Derek. “If you don't want-” she offered, hesitantly. She wondered if Derek had only entered because she had asked, like it was an order.

Derek smiled and walked towards her, kissing her. Allison sighed into his mouth, gooseflesh rising at the scrape of his beard on her skin.

Allison ran her hands over Derek's rough shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath. Derek pulled away, smiling down at her.

“I didn't know if you meant it,” Derek said, “or if you just-”

Allison shook her head. “I meant it.”

Derek kissed her again, pulling her close. They moved to the bed, Allison's heart pounding as she reached to pull at Derek's shirt.

Soon, they were naked, skin sliding hotly against skin. Allison could feel Derek's hardness against her hip, and she reached out, heart pounding.

Derek groaned as she gripped him, and Allison stroked him, bolder. Derek gasped and reached out, cupping her breasts, thumb rubbing her nipples. She gasped, feeling herself becoming slick between her legs.

Allison pulled Derek down over her, so she could kiss him again. Derek slotted between her legs and the pressure of his erection against her made her shudder. Derek grinned and Allison groaned softly. He slid into her, hot and hard. Derek shifted and ran a hand down her stomach, until his fingers were touching where he was entering her. He circled his thumb and she cried out in surprise as pleasure shot up her spine.

She gripped at the muscles in his shoulders as he moved in her, slick and slow. She was shaking now, and Derek wasn't slowing down his ministrations. He kissed her wherever he could reach. Allison clenched her hands on Derek's slick skin as the pleasure started to become overwhelming. She cried out as it pulsated through her. Derek groaned and shuddered as he came, and everything became hotter and wetter.

They lay for a moment, panting. Derek rolled to her side with a groan, and Allison rolled onto her side, reaching out to touch Derek.

“Love you, princess,” He murmured into her hair.

* * *

70.

 

One of Stiles’s favourite things about Derek had always been his abysmal sense of timing. His inability to pick the right moments to bring up serious things was downright astounding, and kind of endearing in its own weird way.

That’s why he could only smile, fond, when Derek said, “We should stop doing this” just as Stiles dropped to his knees in front of the bed to kneel between Derek’s splayed legs.

Derek’s obvious confusion and indignation at Stiles’ reaction made him laugh, and he leaned his head against Derek’s knee, huffing into the crook of it.

“Stiles.”

Stiles hummed and straightened up, keeping his hand to himself. He wasn’t going to do anything if Derek wanted to have this conversation now, of all times. Stiles was many things, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“And why should we?” Stiles said when Derek only looked at him, seemingly conflicted.

They had a booty call arrangement that neither of them could really explain or pinpoint the beginning of. It was a mutually beneficial fuck buddy kind of thing that had never evolved past some hurried fucks and blowjobs at opportune moments. It wasn’t something Stiles wanted to stop doing.

“We don’t…” Derek stopped and he looked so frustrated that Stiles wanted to laugh. “We don’t know anything about each other, Stiles.”

Stiles stilled, the warm presence of amusement all but gone.

“I didn’t realise you wanted that.”

Derek’s hand curled into a fist by his hip and he wouldn’t meet Stiles’s eyes. He shrugged.

“We do, though,” Stiles said. “We know each other plenty. I know more about you than you’re probably comfortable with, to be honest. You’d probably file a restraining order against me if you knew how much I actually know about you.”

Derek didn’t seem convinced by that at all.

“I know you keep trying to make things up to Isaac. I know you think about Boyd all the time.” He let one hand rest against Derek’s thigh. “I know your kinks.”

Derek looked at him then, eyebrow arched. “No, you don’t.”

“Of course I do, buddy.”

“No one knows. No one ever knows.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek really wasn’t as subtle as he thought.

“You want me to guess it? Your biggest kink?”

Derek snorted. “Sure. Go for it.”

“What do I get?” Stiles wet his lips. “To keep you?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, long-suffering.

It wasn’t a denial. Thankfully, Stiles was good at guessing (maybe because he never made any guesses without being tethered to some solid observation of fact). And it might just get him what he wanted.

Stiles looked at Derek, measuring, rubbing his hand in slow circles over Derek’s thigh. It was clear that Derek thought no one could ever find the thing that drove him to distraction – the one thing that got to him the most. It was really rather cute that he thought Stiles hadn’t noticed, as if Stiles hadn’t obsessively catalogued Derek for years.

He urged Derek up into the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress before Stiles settled between his legs. His hands ghosted over the swell of Derek’s hips, over the jut of his hipbones and came to rest at the base of his cock.

Stiles looked up at him, smirked, and said, “You look amazing, baby.”

As predicted, Derek tensed, every muscle in his body coiling tight.

“Ssh.” Stiles nuzzled against his thigh. “It’s okay, baby, I told you I knew.”

Stiles continued to murmur endearments into Derek’s skin until his muscles relaxed and his cock swelled rapidly. Stiles almost burst with pride, and hid his stupid grin against Derek’s cock. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base, humming softly.

He pulled back and licked a wet path along the length of him. “Hm. You like this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far – that sweetheart was just one stop too far into Sappyville: population them. But then Derek whimpered softly, and Stiles looked up to see his cheeks flushed red. Derek couldn’t stop moving under him, hips pressing up with little desperate hitches.

He swallowed Derek’s dick into his mouth and sucked until his jaw ached with it, his lips sore.

“Alright,” Derek said, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, as Stiles pulled away and wiped at the come on his own lips. “You can keep me.”

* * *

71.

 

"This is impossible," he tries, fails, losing the words to the press of her lips.

Doesn't matter, it's the same in his head, a litany repeating over and over until she kisses him again and her hips move. Every thought scatters beyond his grasp and he lets them go, hands preferring the warm flesh of her back, impossibly alive, and the way her breath hitches when he kisses that spot beneath her ear.

It's impossible that she's here, impossible that she's flesh and blood above and around him, and it is, but it isn't. She's here, she's in his arms, and when he inhales it's the scent of her that fills him.

He makes himself pull away, looking up at her in the faint moonlight, and stares at her. He's begged every god under every heaven for just one more look at her for all these years and whatever devil has brought that plea to life, he'll pay their price gladly, because she's as beautiful as he remembers and her smile is worth what little remains of his soul.

That smile curves, grows wistful and wicked in equal measure, and she leans forward to kiss him. "Of course it is," she agrees, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it down his shoulders. "This is Beacon Hills; everything here is impossible."

She's right, she always is, and as much it doesn't make any sense, he doesn't care. Not when her fingers trace the line of his shoulders, tapping out a familiar rhythm (AC/DC, her favorite), leaving him no doubt that it's her. He _hates_ that song and she knows it.

"You're _gone_ ," he says, but catches handfuls of her hair and pulls her mouth to his.

"I was," she says, into the kiss, then her tongue meets his for one brief, mind-spinning moment, then she pulls back as much as he'll let her to add, "I'm back now." There's a desperation in the way she touches him, hands going between them to yank his belt free and then his zipper. She's as eager for him as he is her and it's that, more than anything, the way his name on her mouth is a magic no monster could ever copy.

She tips them onto their side and he catches the hint, rolling her, trapping her against the earth with his body. She laughs, kissing him, and he lets himself get lost in it. He's warm in a way he hasn't been since that night, since he'd walked in on Stiles sitting there with tear-stained cheeks, silent in a way no child should know, and maybe that makes him next on the menu, but he doesn't give a damn. Not right now. Not here. Not with her wrapping her legs around him, anchoring herself to the world, and her nails a welcome grit against his shoulders.

She looks at him, then past, and he sees the sigils etched into the trees. Stiles has been teaching him enough to not get killed and none of these are a warning. Claudia arches beneath him, breasts lush against his chest, and he looks back at her. "A ritual?"

"Part of it," she affirms, sighing as he slides into her. "A life for a life."

He stills where they're joined, fear sparking in him, and says, "Mine for yours?" It comes out cautious, but he knows what his reaction would be even if she did say yes. He's always known, even when he thought this wasn't possible, how far he would go to have her back.

She snorts a laugh, making him grin, and shakes her head. "No." Her hips cant, teasing, and he answers with a thrust that makes her moan. She licks her lips and he kisses her. They lose time that way, trading kisses to match the movement of their bodies, then she manages to say, "Gerard's."

He thinks about that, about the blood on the man's hands, and of all the lives that can never be restored. He doesn't know why her, why now, or why at all, but remembers what happened when he didn't believe. He's remembered and carried that empty and hollow feeling with him every day and every night since.

He has a miracle in his arms and he's not giving it back. He presses his face against her neck and loses himself in the feel of her.

Sometimes, however rare, you do get a happy ending.

* * *

72.

 

It wasn’t that Derek could honestly say he ever expected to be the one rescuing a prince from eternal slumber, but even he had never pictured it happening with his hand jammed down the front of a sleeping royal’s breeches, while from behind a bush, a magical fox snapped, “My body is literally steps from death, Derek, can we hurry up?”

Maybe he’d thought the prince’s eyes would flutter at the first press of Derek’s lips, like in the fairy tales, but no--Prince Stiles’s human body remained stubbornly asleep, even when Derek tried using a bit of tongue.

What that didn’t work, he’d pulled away to find Stiles--the one trapped in a fox’s body, that is--glaring at him, expression unimpressed. After weeks searching the kingdom for Stiles’s human form, which had been cursed to sleep forever until roused by his one true love, Derek had learned to decipher the surprising number of expressions fox-Stiles could make. All of them were sarcastic. It was a marvel Derek hadn’t bunted him off a cliff after the first day. Instead, he’d somehow gone and fallen in love with the little twerp.

“You done?” Stiles drawled. “A for effort, really, but I told you it wouldn’t be that simple. This isn’t some amateur ‘true love’s kiss’ bullshit.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with this.” Glancing between the sleeping body of the prince, who looked hauntingly beautiful even despite the ice-cold pallor of his skin, and Stiles in his fox form, Derek had frowned. “You can’t tell me you feel comfortable with me jerking you off while you’re while you’re standing right there. It’s weird.”

“I’d feel a lot more uncomfortable being a fox for the rest of my life,” Stiles answered blandly. Which was kind of the point. “So hurry up and devirginize my body already. I’ve got an evil wizard to usurp. This kingdom isn’t gonna save itself.”

Fast forward ten minutes or so, and Stiles was behind a bush providing unhelpful commentary while Derek proceeded to deliver the most awkward handjob in the history of time. Not that he didn’t love Stiles, but he really would’ve preferred him to be awake and human the first time they had sex.

With his hand closed around Stiles’s quiescent shaft, Derek gave an experimental stroke, glancing at the sleeping young man’s face as he did. Surprisingly--and it startled him enough that he almost jerked his hand back in shock--the cock twitched and began to harden within the circle of his fingers.

“I’m asleep, not dead,” fox-Stiles offered when Derek paused in confusion. “Keep going.”

“Can you please not talk?” Derek snapped back, voice strangled.

He heard Stiles snort. “Hey, this is at least ask awkward for me as it is for you. I’d really hoped I would at least have opposable thumbs the first time we had sex.”

“You’ve thought about us having sex?” Derek asked after a moment, even as he willed his hand to continue stroking the sleeping Stiles’s cock, growing firmer by the moment. He realized his mouth had gone dry. Easiest not to overthink it.

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles said softly. “I mean… Derek. You’re--of course I have.”

“Tell me,” Derek said, and Stiles proceeded to do just that, murmuring about how badly he wanted to put his mouth on Derek’s body, feel Derek inside him, making him come over and over. Several times, Derek lost the rhythm of his stroking hand and had to wrap his fingers around the suddenly aching erection in his pants.

The only warning he got that his efforts were paying off was when the sleeping prince’s mouth opened on a soft gasp, and a moment later, Derek felt Stiles’s cock jerk and spurt come over his knuckles. It was viscous and hot, not cold at all. Derek made a noise that felt like it’d been punched out of him.

He asked, hesitantly, “Stiles?” but the answer came not from the bushes, but from the young man in the glass casket in front of him, who moaned quietly and seized up like he’d been electrocuted. After a moment, his eyes fluttered open and met Derek’s startled gaze. Unmindful of his sticky hand, Derek rushed to help him up, catching Stiles’s elbow as he swayed.

Stiles buried his face against Derek’s shoulder. “Ugh, that was embarrassingly fast,” he eventually croaked.

“We have time to do it again,” Derek suggested. Cautiously, he petted Stiles’s hair. “You know, after we save the world and live happily ever after.”

* * *

73.

**Warnings:** mild somnophilia (someone waking someone up with sex things in an established relationship).  
 **Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

 

"Derek?" Stiles burrowed his face deeper into Derek's side, worn cotton soft and warm against his cheek. "You awake?"

No response.

Stiles raised his head, blinking warily at the sunlight. Today was Sunday, they had no reasons to leave bed, he wasn't going to waste it sleeping.

He ran his hand over the dark spot on Derek's t-shirt where he'd slept, and Derek didn't even flinch. The first few years they were together Derek would be constantly on edge. But not anymore.

"Derek..." Stiles ran a hand up Derek's chest, rising and falling steadily under his palm. Derek wasn't the most graceful sleeper in the world, limbs thrown everywhere, mouth open, gentle snores mingling with the morning birdsong.

"C'mon sleeping beauty, time to wake up..." Stiles cupped Derek's cheek, rubbing his thumb over his stubble.

"Derek!" He jabbed a finger roughly into Derek's side.

Nothing. He didn't even flinch.

"Is this your way of trying to get a good morning blowjob? Cause let me tell you, it's probably going to work." Derek snuffled, licked his lips and shifted on the bed.

Stiles lifted the blankets over his head, hummed the Indiana Jones theme song as he crawled down, settled between Derek's legs. Even in sleep they parted easily for him, Derek unconsciously recognising him. It made Stiles's heart do the weird fluttery thing.

He loved being under the blankets, the smell of Derek and him was everywhere under here, if this was what Derek could smell all the time, no wonder Derek was always sniffing him.

Stiles ran blunt nails up Derek's thighs, lightly scritching through the hair there.

A quick tug had Derek's boxers (thin old cotton ones Stiles was sure he told him to throw out) down far enough that Stiles could free his cock.

Derek's cock wasn't completely soft, already reacting to Stiles being there it'd fattened up a little. Stiles nuzzled into the coarse hair where dick met body, breathing in the smell that was pure Derek, feeling Derek's grow harder against his cheek.

Sliding forward Stiles slipped his arms under and over Derek's legs, letting his thighs rest in the crook of Stiles's elbow, his legs dangled over the edge of the bed. He was settling in for a long, slow blowjob-- his favourite kind.

When Derek was awake he always rushed them, never let Stiles take the time he wanted to worshiping Derek's dick.

By the time he finally, finally moved to Derek's cockhead, his lips smeared in the precome dribbling down, Stiles wet his lips in them before sucking Derek's cock in slowly.

Above him Derek was moving restlessly, gentle snore gone, replaced with breathy moans. He kept going, giving it everything he had, delighting in the weight and taste of Derek's cock in his mouth.

Derek's hips started thrusting gently, just as a hand snuck into his hair, tugging on the short strands. Stiles sped up, and it took barely anything before Derek was shooting down Stiles's throat, bitter strings of spunk landing on his tongue.

He tucked Derek back in, wasting no time before he crawled up, blinking at the bright morning light as the fresh air hit his face.

"So sleeping beauty awakens! Roused by the kiss of his one true love!" Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Stiles couldn't keep the grin from his voice, this was only the start of their lazy Sunday.

"I don't think that counts as a kiss," Derek said, corners of his mouth curved up in the hint of a smile, his arm still thrown across his eyes. His voice was rough with sleep and orgasm and Stiles loved him.

"No?" Stiles faux-deliberated. "You seem to be awake, so I believe it does..."

"Get up here." Derek reached down to pull Stiles up, kissing him lazily, licking every part of the taste of himself out of Stiles' mouth.

"So, if I'm sleeping beauty, what does that make you?"

Stiles grinned down at Derek, looked at the flecks of grey at his temples, the slight crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He got to have all of this, he got to wake up to sunny Sundays and morning breath kisses, lazily traded while birds sung outside.  
"I'm your Prince Charming, of course."

Derek rolled his eyes, but leaned in for another kiss.

His life had always felt like a movie, from family tragedy, to supernatural horror, and now he was stuck on some sort of weird Disney shit. He wasn't complaining.

* * *

74.

 

Once upon a time there was an idiot who worked with androids and played with stuff he didn't understand…

Stiles stared at the paper he'd _borrowed_ from Deucalion's desk that morning. It was yellowed with age, wrinkled from being handled too much. The hand-written code wasn't even in English, or any other language Stiles recognized. The syntax was complex, more so than anything Stiles had ever seen.

Whatever was going on with Deucalion's pet project, it was worlds beyond what he was sharing at team meetings.

"Derek, _on_ ," Stiles said.

Across the room, Derek whizzed to life, his eyes flashing blue. "Good morning, Stiles."

"Morning, big guy." Stiles smiled, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

Derek's constant, comforting presence was pathetically the best thing in Stiles life at the moment. He was a beautifully built android, stunning to look at, but Stiles always found it hard to meet those soulless eyes.

He stroked Derek's cold cheek and the android's blank expression didn't waver.

Stiles sighed. "Let's give this upgrade a try."

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt off axis. As he typed into the control panel at the back of Derek's neck, the strange syntax became hypnotic, flowing from him in waves, like the swell of a tide, rising to meet the moon. Instinctive. Primal.

It wasn't until a spark bit at his fingers as he submitted the upgrade that he seemed to gain control of himself again. 

"What the--"

"Wish-fulfillment protocol initiated," Derek said and stripped off his shirt.

Stiles gaped at the well-defined abs, the perfect, human-like skin. "Deucalion, you dirty dog."

 

Derek's hands, surprisingly warm, gripped Stiles' waist. An android's hands were never _warm_ ; Stiles worried he was malfunctioning.

"Feedback analysis now operational." Despite the strangeness of the words, Derek's cadence sounded almost human.

"Feedback? I haven't provided any feedback."

Derek grinned, placing a hand on Stiles' chest. "Your heart rate has increased. Your pupils have dilated. Your scent..."

Derek nuzzled Stiles' neck, inhaling, though androids had no need for oxygen, no olfactory sensors -- yet Derek hummed like he was pleased.

Stiles felt himself responding helplessly to the attention -- too many nights he'd dreamed of this.

Derek's _impossibly_ warm hands stroked his cheek. "You provide feedback. And I form an appropriate -- a human -- response." Derek brushed his lips against Stiles'. "And then I provide the feedback."

Derek led Stiles' hand down to feel his hard cock.

"Jesus," Stiles breathed.

"Now you're mirroring it," Derek stated, his nostrils flaring as he moved both their hands from one crotch to the other. His fingers curled around Stiles' stiffening dick. "You like that I am reacting to you, so I am."

"Shit." Stiles shivered.

Derek shivered in response.

"What do you wish for?" Derek asked, stroking the length of Stiles' cock.

"I want--" Stiles huffed, frustrated. He leaned in and kissed Derek again, wishing this were real. Their kiss deepened and Stiles whimpered, wishing Derek was human -- alive, and not some fucktoy pieced together with sketchy lines of code.

It was what he ached for every morning as his dreams faded away, and it was wrong, so fucking wrong.

He rutted up against Derek, guilt simmering in his belly as Derek moaned in return. He wondered if Derek was mirroring Stiles' desire because of some pleasure feedback loop in his programming, or he was just reacting to the friction.

"What is your wish, Stiles?"

Gripping Derek's ass, Stiles pulled him closer and rolled his hips. He buried his guilt and chased his completion. He had one wish, one impossible wish that he wasn't stupid enough to voice, yet he screamed it in his mind as he came.

The lights flickered and Stiles, still dazed with his orgasm, looked to the window to check for a storm. The midday sun was shining.

"Thank you," Derek whispered, kissing him gently.

Stiles blinked in confusion; Derek's face was different. His mouth was less controlled, softer, and his eyes watery with emotion. There was a stiff, false look that went hand-in-hand with androids; Derek had none of that any longer.

Reaching up, Stiles wiped a tear spilling down Derek's cheek. "What just happened?"

"You wished."

"You can't be. That's not--" His eyes flickered to the code he'd entered, remembering the strange, unnatural fog that had overcome him as he'd typed words he hadn't understood. Voice shaking, he commanded, "Derek, _off_."

Derek smirked, saying simply, "No."

* * *

74B.  
 **Mod Note: This entry was missed by the Mod in the final compilation of the post. It was received on time and as to not completely bork the numbering after this it will be called 74B**

Once upon a time an evil witch came upon a pack of wolves. Now, these wolves were not ordinary wolves; no, these wolves were magic. They could transform themselves into men and used that power to protect other, but they could not protect themselves. The huntress cast an evil spell; she poured the richest silver into the hottest fire and cursed the pack so that on the full moon the wolf’s control would diminish, on the night of a full blood moon the transformation would separate the man from the wolf so that only the beast remained…  
  
“Derek, buddy, you gotta focus. Focus on my voice.”  
  
“Leave, Stiles!” Derek screamed, he stepped away until his back hit the wall. Through the window he could see the red around the moon, “Get away! I can’t control it.”  
  
“Dude, you totally can. You’re, like, the zen wolf.”  
  
Then Derek moved. Faster than Stiles could react, moving until it was Stiles against the wall with his feet dangling in the air. Derek’s eyes, silver instead of blue, glowed in the crimson dark and he leaned close. “I can’t control it on the blood moon. The wolf takes over.”  
  
Stiles swallowed, shivered when Derek’s claws raked up and over his ribs. “And what does the wolf want?”  
  
Derek looked up, his eyes flickered blue then Stiles watched the silver shimmer back and Derek’s teeth lengthen. “You.”  
  
“Then have me,” Stiles whispered, leaned forward and brushed a kiss over Derek’s lips, “I trust you, Derek.” He kissed him again, “Man. Wolf. You.”  
  
Derek pushed him harder against the wall and he felt Derek’s breath hot against his skin, and he tried not to groan as the pain cut into his back and as fear tightened his belly. Trust, he thought.  
  
“It’s a curse,” he whispered.  
  
“Then how do we break it?” Stiles asked and ran his hands up Derek’s arms, cupped his face until Derek’s eyes met his, “What do we do?”  
  
“We can’t.” And Stiles fell, his ass hitting the ground and Derek backing away quickly.  
  
“We can,” Stiles argued. He followed, slid to his knees at Derek’s feet and pulled down; he hooked his fingers through Derek’s belt loops and tugged until other man sank down to meet him. “One thing Disney has taught me, Grumpy Wolf, is that there is always a way to break evil curses.”  
  
He watched as Derek shifted from beast to man, then pushed forward. One hand fisted in Derek’s hair and the other gripped around Derek’s neck. He kissed, pulled until Derek braced a hand out and lowered them to the ground. Lips slid and teeth bit, Stiles rolled his body and Derek growled in response.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek whispered even as he clawed at Stiles’ shirt.  
  
“You never could,” Stiles whispered, his voice catching when Derek’s tongue followed the wake of his shirt. Derek sighed against him, rolled his shoulders into Stiles’ touch and paused before licking his way into Stiles’s mouth. He nipped at his lips and grappled at the button of his jeans.  
  
Stiles groaned, his fingers finally found the edge of Derek’s shirt and he pulled. It was slow, and fast, one minute he was clothed, the next Derek was covering his skin with bites and kisses. One minute his hands were sruggling with cloth, the next he found smooth muscle beneath his touch. He whispered promises as Derek teased him, he whimpered Derek’s name when Derek licked the line of his cock and circled the head.  
  
“Please,” he begged, then Derek drew him up in a single motion. They moved, like they had done this a thousand times; Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, tightened his arms around Derek’s neck. He gasped as Derek slowly slid into him. They both stilled, adjusting, then began to move together. His belly tightened when Derek sped up, his toes curled and his fingers found Derek’s. He felt the thrill of the orgasm work its way through him until his body was shaking with want. 

He whispered Derek’s name as he came, then felt the flash of electricity when Derek’s own orgasm gripped him.  
  
Stiles lifted his head and ran a hand over Derek’s chest and smiled, “See? No wolf. No curse.”  
  
Derek looked outside, tightened his arm around Stiles and saw the red of the moon pulsing in the sky, “Maybe you broke curse.”  
  
“Maybe we broke it,” Stiles said, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder.

74C  
 **Mod Note: This entry was missed by the Mod in the final compilation of the post. It was recieved on time and as to not completely bork the numbering after this it will be called 74C**

**Werewolves with Knots**  
  
Stiles,  
Do you like  
Werewolves with Knots?  
  
I do not like,  
Werewolves with Knots  
I do not like them,  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Would you fuck one  
Here or there?  
  
I wouldn’t fuck one  
Here or there.  
I won’t fuck one  
Anywhere.  
I do not like  
Werewolves with Knots  
I do not like them  
Mr “I-call-the-shots”  
  
Would you fuck one,  
For a house?  
Would you fuck one,  
That read you Faust?  
  
I would not fuck one  
For a house.  
I would not fuck one  
That read me Faust.  
I wouldn’t fuck one  
Here or there.  
I won’t fuck one  
Anywhere.  
I don’t fuck Werewolves with Knots  
I don’t like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Would you fuck one  
That owns stocks?  
Would you fuck one  
That’s a fox?  
  
Not for stocks.  
Not even a fox.  
Not for a house.  
Not for Faust.  
I wouldn’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
I don’t fuck Shifters with Knots.  
I don’t like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Would you, could you?  
For a car?  
Fuck one, fuck one!  
There’s a bar!  
  
I would not,  
Could not,  
For a car.  
  
You may like one,  
You will see.  
You may like one,  
And “make love” by the sea.  
  
I would not, could not, by the sea.  
Not for a car! You leave me be!  
  
I do not want one that owns stocks.  
I do not want one, not even a fox.  
I do not want one to build me a house.  
I do not want one to read me Faust.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
I do not like Shifters with Knots.  
I do not like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
An orgy… An orgy?  
An orgy. An orgy!?  
Could you, would you,  
In an orgy?  
  
Not in an orgy! Not by the sea!  
No for a car! Derek! Leave me be!  
  
I would not, could not, because of stocks.  
I would not, could not, even a fox.  
I will not fuck one that reads me Faust.  
I will not fuck one for a house.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
I don’t fuck Shifters with Knots  
I do not like them Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
 **OK!**  
In the dark?  
If it were dark.  
Would you, could you, in the dark?  
  
I would not, could not  
in the dark.  
  
Would you, could you  
with the Banshee?  
  
I would not, could not, with our Banshee.  
Not in the dark. Not in an orgy.  
Not for a car. Not by the sea.  
I do not like them, Derek, you see.  
Not for a house, not for Faust.  
Not for stocks, not even a fox.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one anywhere.  
  
You don’t like  
Shifters with Knots?  
  
I do not  
Like them  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
Could you, would you,  
For the pack?  
  
I would not,  
Could not,  
For the pack.  
  
You couldn’t? You wouldn’t?  
Is that a fact?  
  
I could not, would not, for the pack.  
I will not, will not, that’s a fact.  
I will not fuck one with our Banshee.  
I will not fuck one in an orgy.  
Not in the dark! Not by the sea!  
Not for a car! You leave me be!  
I don’t fuck them for their stocks.  
I will not fuck one that’s a fox.  
I will not fuck one for a house.  
I will not love one just for Faust.  
I won’t fuck one here or there.  
I won’t fuck one **ANYWHERE**!  
  
I do not like  
Shifters  
with Knots  
  
I do not like them,  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
  
You do not like them,  
So you say.  
Just fuck one, fuck one,  
And you may.  
Fuck _**me** _ and you may, I say!  
  
Derek!  
If you’ll let me be  
I’ll fuck you  
Maybe then you’ll--  
  
… **!!!**  
  
Oh! _Hnnnng_!!!  
I _love_ Shifters with Knots!  
I do! Harder, _harder_! Mr. “I-call-the shots”.  
I would fuck you _in front of the pack_!  
I would fuck you, that’s a fact.  
I would fuck you with our Banshee,  
In the dark, In an orgy!  
For a car, and by the sea!  
It feels so damn _good_ you see!  
  
I won’t fuck one for their stocks.  
I won’t fuck one that’s a fox.  
But I’ll fuck **you** for a house.  
I’ll fuck you for reading me Faust.  
I’ll fuck you here and there.  
I’ll fuck you anywhere!  
  
I do so love  
Werewolves with Knots.  
Thank you!  
 _Thank you!_  
Mr. “I-call-the shots”!

* * *

74D  
 **Mod Note: This entry was missed by the Mod last night in the final compilation of the post. It was received on time and as to not completely bork the numbering after this it will be called 74B**

1.

When Lydia comes, she always flops around on the bed like a fish. She doesn’t usually turn into a fish--half a fish. Her legs have turned into a finn, anyway. Scott hasn’t quite processed it. He’s just staring at her, mouth agape and still slick with his spit and her juices. Lydia doesn’t appreciate that.

“Well,” she says, pushing herself on her elbows, and flipping her hair back, “don’t just lay there, get me a bottle of water.”

2.

Lydia’s legs come back when Scott is carrying her into Deaton’s. She drops her water bottle, Scott trips over it, and werewolf powers or not, they go tumbling into a heap right before they get to the mountain ash barrier. Lydia’s naked from the waist down. Scott doesn’t know whether he should cover her or not, but he doesn’t have to wonder, much, with Lydia. She’s already working at the buttons of his flannel. It fits her like a dress.

He never remembers how short she is until she’s barefoot. It always seems like she’s taller than everyone, towering around on her heels and staring down her nose at the peasants even though the top of her ponytail reaches somewhere in the region of his chin. Kind of like she’s doing now. It’s probably a defense mechanism. Either that or she actually plans to kill him.

3.

Deaton’s advice is not very helpful. “It’s not a curse,” he tells them. “These are powers you were born with, manifesting now that you’ve come into the age of your true inheritance.”

“Inheritance?” Lydia says, in the way she does where she pronounces all of the syllables really carefully, kind of like she’s verbally flipping her hair.

“You’re a mermaid princess.”

Lydia gapes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Scott rubs soothing circles on her back. “I should’ve known,” he jokes weakly, “because you have red hair.” Lydia leans back into his touch, and only rolls her eyes a little, so he counts that one as a win.

“Well,” she says eventually, “what do you suggest I do about this?”

“Have you ever heard the story of the little mermaid?”

“The one where I have to give my voice to the sea witch, or the one where I collapse into seafoam and die in the waves?”

“The one where you get the king’s blessing to stay on land and live permanently as a human.”

Scott rubs Lydia’s back some more. She rolls her eyes again.

4\. 

They took Scott’s bike to the coast so Lydia could have access to the ocean. The beach isn’t as private as it could be, but he goes down on her in the sunset anyway. She clings to her hair and whispers his name when she comes apart. She has fins instead of legs again. 

“Be careful,” Scott says, as the waves come to wash her into the sea. Lydia takes his face in both hands and kisses him. He’s never seen her face look like that before: wistful, a little sad, but mostly determined.

5\. 

Scott wakes up to wet hair on his neck and a face buried into his shoulder. “Lydia? What happened?”

She crosses her arms over his chest and props her head up on them. “It’s okay,” she says. “I told him I had someone worth living on land for.”


	8. Group D: No Warnings and Pairing

75.

* * *

76.

**Red Riding Hood and the Huntress**

* * *

77.

* * *

78.

* * *

79.

* * *

80.

[](http://i.imgur.com/oVhbeZk.jpg)

* * *

81.

* * *

82.

* * *

83.

* * *

84.

* * *

85.

* * *

86.

* * *

87.


End file.
